


The New Flight Instructor

by Mx_Maneater



Series: Taking Flight [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Coming Out, Explicit Sexual Content, Harry Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Thinks Draco Malfoy is Up to Something, Harry Potter is Bad at Feelings, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation and sex dreams, POV Harry Potter, Pining Harry, Post-Hogwarts, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Quidditch, Slow Build Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Snarky Draco Malfoy, So does Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 04:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 143,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Maneater/pseuds/Mx_Maneater
Summary: Harry's been taking some time off after the war to find himself, but when McGonagall offers him a position as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he decides it's time to reenter society.  He just doesn't expect that his reentry will involve Draco Malfoy - the new flight instructor at Hogwarts!And seeing Malfoy as a glorified "gym teacher" is hilarious...until it's not.  Harry's starting to feel weird, his heart is racing, and he's not quite sure he can figure out what it all means while keeping his students in line.





	1. New Jobs, Old Enemies

All of Harry’s problems could be traced back to the curse on Hogwarts’ Defense Against the Dark Arts position - namely, the fact that it was once again vacant and in need of filling. Without that catalyst, Minerva never would have contacted him in his “gap year” of sorts and practically begged him to apply, which left him in the uniquely terrible situation of having no real reason to refuse.  
  
Harry had been content these past two years. Rather, he told himself that he was content with the jobless, pastoral life he had chosen at the Weasley’s in order to “take time for himself.” He had needed to figure out what being “normal” meant after conquering Voldemort, and that wasn’t something he believed could happen by throwing himself back into crime-fighting with the Aurors. Though, despite this reasoning, it had still hurt to turn Kingsley down.  
  
Normal. He repeated it to himself like practicing a spell, day after day. He would wake up early and come down to sit on the Weasleys’ overstuffed couch with a cup of tea, smiling fondly at Molly who was already knitting in the chair. Normal. He would skip mock-Quidditch games with Ginny and George, opting instead to fly peacefully over the fields. Normal. Sometimes, he even tried to read the books that had accumulated from Hermione’s Christmas presents to him over the years. Normal, normal, normal.  
  
He was starting to worry that he may never settle comfortably into “normal.” Two bloody years, and he was bored out of his mind. Had the war broken him in a way that was irreparable? Why couldn’t he enjoy this peaceful life that he finally had a chance to experience?  
  
Ron and Hermione seemed to have settled into a normal lifestyle just fine. Sure, they had grieved after the war and taken time to heal both physically and emotionally, but now they seemed content. Hermione had just signed the final papers on a cottage for them to move into - citing that the apartment was feeling a bit juvenile and cramped these days - and they both found their jobs at the Ministry fulfilling.  
  
He was really, truly happy for them. But sometimes, he just felt like they were changing too quickly, moving on into some version of adulthood he would never understand. It scared him more than he would like to admit.  
  
When he had received the owl from Minerva, he had been almost relieved to find an excuse to end his self-imposed exile from society. Amidst his terror at the prospect of teaching, naturally.  
  
Ginny had been hesitant at first - “Are you sure you’re ready to go back into the world? There’s plenty of time, if you need it; no one would blame you after what you’ve been through” - but she had come around when he feigned enough enthusiasm about joining their old friend Neville as a professor at Hogwarts. The fond nostalgia for the school that he considered “home” had been real enough, but his eagerness at teaching specifically had been a little forced.  
  
“Well, alright,” Ginny had said, pulling on her Quidditch gear. “I do think you’d make a brilliant professor. I mean, look at everyone you taught in Dumbledore’s Army!”  
  
“That wasn’t just me,” Harry had said, looking away in embarrassment. “We all helped each other.”  
  
Ginny had just smirked and given him a kiss on the cheek as she headed to the Floo.  
  
“Who are you playing tonight?”  
  
“The Falmouth Falcons. Should be able to crush them easily, but wish me luck!”  
  
She stepped into the Floo and vanished with a flick of red hair before Harry could repeat “good luck” back to her. He had deflated a bit after she left the room, alone once more with all his insecurities and uncertainties. 

  


Now, Harry stood in Dumbledore’s office - _Minerva’s office_, he corrected himself - and brushed the ashes from his robes. It had been almost two years since he had last stepped foot into Hogwarts, and he was hit immediately with a bittersweet mix of childhood memories and loss.  
  
“Harry,” Minerva said softly, rising from her chair. “Harry, it’s so good to see you again.” In repeating his name, she seemed to be verifying that he was indeed here before her. She stepped around the desk and pulled him into a quick hug before pulling away and clearing her throat. He thought he saw a glisten in her eyes, but it could have been a trick of the candlelight.  
  
She retreated a step back and folded her hands. “Now that that’s out of the way, I want to thank you again for accepting this position on such short notice. As you know very well, we have a hard time keeping Defense Against the Dark Arts professors for more than a short period, and it seems we’ve run through all our willing candidates this time around.”  
  
She gave him a quick smile, but there was an underlying bitterness to it that Harry could definitely relate to. Harry couldn’t help but think of Lupin, the best professor in Defense Against the Dark Arts he had ever had. He would have given anything to have Lupin here teaching instead of him, though he knew that after third year, Lupin hadn’t intended on returning as a professor.  
  
“Of course, Minerva. I’m flattered you thought of me for the position, especially since I never came back and sat for my N.E.W.T.s.”  
  
She quirked a brow. “Oh, I hardly think that’s necessary. You only defeated the greatest dark wizard of our time - I would be hard-pressed to find anyone who thinks you’re underqualified for teaching schoolchildren.”  
  
Harry chuckled, though he honestly _did_ feel a tad underqualified.  
  
“I think, as it is, we’ll have more issues with parents writing in for autographs than complaints about you, Harry,” she continued.  
  
He blanched. “Just don’t let me end up like Lockhart. I don’t want to make my students spend their detentions addressing my fanmail for hours on end.” He would rather miss living at the Weasley’s, where Molly would sort the important mail from the gushing fan letters in the morning and discard the majority before they ever reached him.  
  
“I should hope it never comes to that.” Minerva paused for a moment. “Oh yes, well I imagine you want to spend some time getting your classroom and office in order, so I shan’t keep you. However, there are several things I’d like to discuss once you’ve settled in...one being introductions to several new staff members-”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll meet everyone in the Great Hall for supper later. I can’t imagine it’s changed too much.”  
  
“Well,” Minerva began, then stopped herself. “Right. I’ll leave you to your organizing then. I trust you remember your way to the classroom on your own?”  
  
Harry just smiled and headed to the classroom that had been at once a place of fun, a place of dread, and now, a place of existential anguish. 

  


After several hours of sorting old textbooks and cages full of bizarre beings (most of which he took straight to Hagrid, knowing next to nothing about magical creatures), Harry felt fairly confident that the classroom looked marginally better than it had before. He opened a window to air it out, so the sunlight was a definite improvement if nothing else. The office had been less of a priority, as less people would see it the first few days, but he knew that he was bound to embarrass himself if students found his classroom unkempt and poorly organized. Unfortunately, organization had never been one of his talents - he had relied entirely on Hermione for that.  
  
He heard the clock tower chiming in the background and realized it was about time he headed down to dinner. Good - that had been plenty of cleaning for one day (_or rather, a lifetime_, he thought). Harry scrubbed a hand through his messy bangs and headed down to the Great Hall, feeling rather strange about the prospect of sitting at the front table instead of his usual place with Gryffindor.  
  
In entering the ornate double-doors, Harry realized with a jolt that Minerva had already begun addressing the students. He rushed up the side, not quite able to ignore the gaping admiration of most of the students he passed. He met several of their gazes, then looked away sharply, a bit uncomfortable. Almost there - up the stairs, onto the stage. He had nearly made it to the empty seat along the professor’s table, when he glanced up to scan the faces next to him and stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
Seated in front of him was an equally shocked-looking Draco Malfoy.  
  
“Malfoy? What the hell?!” Harry couldn’t help but burst out.  
  
Minerva turned with a tut and a sharp glare, and Harry closed his slack jaw with a snap and took his seat quickly. He could see more students turning their attention towards him rather than their Headmaster. But that still didn’t stop him from turning to glare at his former nemesis with barely-contained anger and confusion.  
  
“Potter,” Malfoy spat, though at a low enough whisper that Minerva wouldn’t turn around and curse them for interrupting. “Come back to sign a few autographs?”  
  
“No! Of all the stupid-” Harry took a deep breath, remembering that he was now a professor and expected to behave as such. He restarted: “Why are you here, Malfoy?”  
  
He chanced a glance away from the Sorting Ceremony, which he was watching rather performatively, and gave Malfoy a once-over. The prat was still as pristinely-dressed as ever, robes pressed into clean, straight lines. His posture was stiffer than it had been in school, though there was still a cool confidence in the way he leaned back in his chair. Harry’s eyes darted back up to his face and was surprised to meet Malfoy’s ice-grey gaze. It seemed to be more analyzing than angry.  
  
“Why do you think, Potter? It shouldn’t take a genius to figure it out.” Malfoy gestured at the table and the line of professors sitting alongside them. “Can ‘The Boy Who Lived’ make a simple deduction?”  
  
“Shut up,” Harry growled, startlingly Professor Flitwick - who was next to Malfoy - into eyeing him disapprovingly. “And maybe I just don’t want to believe it. _You_? They hired _you_ as a professor? What subject could you possibly teach?”  
  
Malfoy’s mouth set into a scowl, and Harry could swear he caught a tinge of pink pricking the man’s cheeks. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he huffed and turned back to face the ceremony.  
  
Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from flitting between Minerva directing the first years to their new Houses and Malfoy’s profile. He hadn’t seen the man in nearly two years after all - not since testifying at his trial - and it was strange to see him here in such a vastly different context and after so long. The more Harry snuck glances at him, the more he focused on irrelevant little details like the fact that he didn’t think he had ever shared a table with Malfoy in all their years at Hogwarts. Would he be able to stand it - sitting near him for all his meals the whole school year?  
  
The thought seemed both daunting and tedious, but Harry couldn’t deny that it stirred up another familiar, yet long-suppressed emotion in Harry: excitement. After all this time “living peacefully” at the Weasleys, he had almost forgotten how much of his life he had spent picking fights with people (the Dursleys, Malfoy, Umbridge, etc.). Moreover, that he relished picking those fights. Arguing with Malfoy again made him suddenly realize that he had missed it - it gave him a kind of thrill that only one born into a tumultuous life could understand.  
  
Harry zoned back into Minerva’s speech just in time to catch the introductions.  
  
“...and as I have officially taken on the position of Headmaster, Professor Abbott will be your new Transfigurations professor, and she will also be serving as Head of Hufflepuff House.”  
  
Harry blinked in surprise, then glanced further down the table at Hannah, who was rising to be recognized. He hadn’t known she would be teaching - though he supposed it made sense, as her husband Neville started last term as the Herbology professor when Sprout and Hooch had retired. Neville was a good friend to Harry, though like everyone else, Harry had pushed him away a bit in the past few years following the battle. He wished now that he had made more time to catch up before the school year started to trade stories and plans.  
  
Harry stopped. If Hannah was taking on the Transfigurations class, and if he himself was taking on Defense Against the Dark Arts, that meant… It couldn’t mean, could it?  
  
“And Professor Malfoy,” Minerva continued, “will be stepping in as our new Flying Instructor.” She gestured towards him, and Malfoy rose, pink definitely dotting his cheeks now, though his face had taken on a mask-like quality in facing the crowd.  
  
Harry couldn’t believe it - Malfoy, _Draco bloody Malfoy_ was going to be the Hogwarts gym teacher? Sure, he could fly, but he doubted the man could run a lap without collapsing and feigning injury. After third year, he certainly didn’t have a good track record. He didn’t have time to get over his shock before Minerva continued though.  
  
“Lastly, is Professor Potter, who will be taking on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, as I’m sure you all could surmise.”  
  
There was a chorus of ‘oohs’ that startled Harry out of his chair and inspired him to wave awkwardly at the students - an act that earned a distinct, derisive snort to his left.  
  
“Now that the Sorting and introductions are out of the way, let the feast commence!” Minerva waved a hand, and heaping trays of ham and potatoes and various fruit pasties appeared on every table. Oh, he had missed this.  
  
Harry ate rapaciously, though he glanced defensively at Malfoy from time to time to gauge whether the man was going to make a snide comment about his “lack of etiquette” or the like. He didn’t, but every time Harry looked over at him, his smirk grew wider, like he knew exactly what Harry was paranoid about. Harry couldn’t decide which was worse.  
  
At the end of the meal, Malfoy wiped his hands delicately on the silk napkin. Then, with no warning whatsoever, he leaned in close to Harry and whispered in his ear.  
  
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to stare, Potter?”  
  
He pulled back quickly and stood before Harry could even process what he had said. By the time Harry choked out a startled “w-what?!,” Malfoy was halfway to the door, leaving Harry red and inexplicably flustered.  
  
And he would not let himself consider for even a moment what that might mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading!!  
This is actually the first fanfic I've ever written, so I'm hoping you enjoy it and follow it to the end. I'm not completely sure how long it will be, but I've got several more chapters in the works already, and I plan to update regularly until it's finished. Lots of snarky banter and slow burn ahead!
> 
> xoxo  
Mx. Maneater


	2. Avoiding Draco Malfoy

Harry couldn’t sleep well that night, worried and frustrated by what Malfoy could have meant. Was he arrogant enough to think that Harry wanted to look at him for some reason? But arrogance was typical of Malfoy. It was nothing new - though the arrogance was usually paired with a scathing comment or two (usually related to how Harry’s parents were dead or how he was an ugly “scarhead” or how he was scared of dementors etcetera, etcetera). 

But that led Harry to the main issue: if Malfoy wasn’t saying something mean, what was the catch? Clearly, he was amused enough by the situation to feel smug without any perceived one-ups, and that was worrying. Anything that amused Malfoy was likely in bad taste. 

That, however, led Harry to another alarming question: _did_ he want to stare at Malfoy? He had found his gaze falling repeatedly on him in the Great Hall, though he chalked it up to not having seen the man in several years. Anyone would be curious, wouldn’t they? Especially when a former nemesis was involved. __

_ __ _

And why was he spending so much time worrying about Malfoy anyway? He should have better things to worry about, like how unprepared he was for his first class tomorrow.

Round and round, his mind worked in circles; his body mirrored the path of his thoughts as he tossed and turned until late in the night. 

“Shit,” Harry mumbled when he faced his reflection in the morning. Dark bags sagged under his eyes, and with his messy hair, he certainly didn’t look like the war hero everyone was expecting. He splashed some water on his face, which didn’t exactly remedy the image. 

Halfway to breakfast, Harry remembered with a jolt what would be waiting for him at the professors’ table. _Fuck_, he thought. _I’m never going to survive if this is just day one_. 

_ _ __ _ _

_ __ _

Sure enough, when he reached the Great Hall, Malfoy was already eating a scone with clotted cream and flipping through today’s issue of _The Daily Prophet_. Panic rose in his chest, and he made a beeline for the far end of the table, where Neville and Hannah were chatting pleasantly. Thankfully, there were still several empty chairs at that end.

“Heya Harry! It’s been a while. How’s life been treating you?” Neville clasped his hand and drew him into a half-hug. 

“Neville. It’s nice to see you.” He glanced at Neville’s partner. “Hi Hannah. Haven’t seen you in a while either.” 

She smiled, though it was a bit hesitant, and Harry wondered if he reminded her of things she’d rather forget about from the war. He was sure he did. He often used that as an excuse not to see people - for everyone except those who knew him well beforehand, Harry’s presence was irrevocably linked in their minds with the dark times fighting Voldemort. 

“So did McGonagall persuade you to take the position? I thought for sure that they wouldn’t be able to find someone in time. It was all so last minute,” Neville said.  


After the war, Minerva had insisted that Harry and the other students who led the fight call her by her first name, but sometimes, in casual conversation, it was hard to change old habits.

“She didn’t force me. But I suppose her offer came at a good time; I was ready for a change, I think.” 

“And you and Ginny? You’re still together, right? I assume she’s not super happy about losing you to Hogwarts for the year,” he joked, grinning cheekily.  


Harry quelled a rush of annoyance. He loved Ginny, and he resented the implication that he was selfishly leaving her all alone. She was a self-sufficient person (sometimes to the extreme), and he doubted she would miss him too much. Besides, she could come and visit when the initial chaos of the first week classes subsided.

“We’re still together. And she’ll manage just fine.” Harry took a bite of oatmeal, then turned to Hannah. “How about you? Did you decide to come and teach because Neville was here?”

She blushed a bit and laughed before answering. “I mean, that was part of the decision, yes. But I’ve always liked Transfiguration as a subject, well, after Herbology of course. I thought it would be a good fit since McGonagall won’t be teaching it anymore. And they lost their Head of Hufflepuff when Professor Sprout left.” 

“And their flying coach,” Harry murmured, more to himself than anyone. 

“That’s right! Can you believe Malfoy is teaching too?” Neville asked. “I was very surprised when McGonagall told me. I never would have pegged him as the teaching type.” 

“Yeah, if they want him to _teach_ the kids instead of _bully_ them,” Harry responded. 

_ _ __ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

Neville’s face took on a worried look. “Do you really think he will? I’d hope that he’s past all that if McGonagall feels she can give him a second chance. And he did get off innocent in his trial.” 

Yes; Harry had seen it firsthand, but he didn’t say so. “Yeah, he’s probably changed,” he grumbled. 

And who knows - maybe he had. Harry resolved to try and put his childhood grudges to rest in order to survive this unrelenting proximity. 

He only let himself glance at Malfoy once as he left the Great Hall, and he didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed to find him scowling in the other direction. 

His first class was a nightmare. 

Harry had wanted something simple, yet fun and interactive for his first class with the second years, so he had chosen a good ol’ round of dueling to get them warmed up. However, this ended in total disaster, as his students, like himself all those years ago, had not stuck to simple disarming spells. He had been forced to end his class half an hour early to attend to injuries and bring one student (who'd been turned an alarming shade of green by her classmate) to Madam Pomfrey. Altogether, it was not a great start, and Harry’s self-confidence regarding teaching was sinking even lower than it had been. 

By the time dinner rolled around, Harry had forgotten his intentions to get there early enough to find a seat _not_ near Malfoy (they always seemed to be the last chairs left), and Harry was forced to choose a seat between Trelawney and Slughorn to avoid him. Slughorn, of course, was overcome with elation at his favorite influential former student joining him, and Harry endured a half hour’s conversation about the difference between brewed poison antidotes and bezoars before excusing himself to his room.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

As the week went on, Harry found himself falling into a routine. He spent nearly all his free time divided between studying his defensive spells and better teaching methods. Perhaps this job was a good thing after all, because he’d been forced to call Hermione for advice, and he had ended up talking with her more about class strategies than he had about anything for the past few months. At mealtimes, he made sure to arrive early and pick a seat away from Malfoy, cycling between sitting with Neville and Hannah and other professors to give the couple some space. 

Everything was beginning to fall into place, and Harry thought his classes were even getting a little less disorganized, when the first “incident” occurred. 

Harry had been all set up to give the boggart lesson he remembered so clearly from Lupin’s class, when he found himself with an _empty cabinet_. He had given his speech about the creatures, dramatically flung open the door, and that was it. Empty. No boggart in sight. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

He had stood there foolishly, his wand arm still outstretched in expectation for a long moment before uttering a dumbfounded “huh” that rang out into the awkward silence. 

Initially, Harry had found the event strange; but boggarts, he reasoned, were mysterious creatures to begin with, so one vanishing didn’t seem to be an unprecedented event. However, when the next incident occurred, a singular sensation of dread and paranoia began to build inside him. 

The next day, when he entered his office, he got the vague sensation that something was off the moment he stepped into the room. It wasn’t until he turned around to scan the walls that he noticed that all his course books had been charmed into Rita Skeeter’s horrible (and inaccurate) biography of him: _The Boy Who Lived: Loves, Lies, and Loneliness_. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

With the sheer volume of books and the strength of the spell, it had taken him the better part of an hour to _finite_ them back to rights. But who would take the time to play such an elaborate prank? He didn’t think any of his students disliked his class that much.

The following day, Harry left his office when he heard a commotion in the halls, only to find Peeves swooping down the corridor singing “_Potter the rotter! His teaching is like slaughter! We won’t earn the O.W.L.S. we ought ter!_” __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Harry could endure looking silly in class or charmed books in the confines of his office, but Peeves’ attention-mongering was the final straw. Harry confronted the poltergeist with frenzied spells and shouting that unfortunately only encouraged Peeves to sing louder and throw more sconces on the ground. 

“Who told you to sing that?” Harry yelled, knowing he was making a scene, but quite unable to stop. Memories of second year flooded into his mind. 

“Not telling,” Peeves giggled. He swooped around, crashing through lamps and busting open classroom doors. Finally, after several more improvised verses - each more insulting than the last - he got bored and floated away down the hall. By then, though, Harry had already attracted several dozen students, and a few teachers as well, for an audience. They looked at him rather pityingly. 

He decided to take a walk of the grounds to clear his head. 

On instinct, he wandered over by Hagrid’s, marvelling at the sudden realization that he could go wherever he wanted without a curfew now. He paused outside the hut, but ultimately decided against paying a visit; Hagrid would want to chat for several hours and catch up, and Harry wasn’t sure he was ready for that kind of social commitment yet. 

Without thinking, he found himself walking past the Quidditch pitch - a place he hadn’t allowed himself to visit so far this week. Even if Malfoy hadn’t been the flying instructor, it would have been painful to walk past the field knowing that he would never again play on Gryffindor’s team. He felt a sudden rush of jealousy for his current students - how they could take classes and play Quidditch without a care, how their childhood wouldn’t be consumed by the war that had taken Harry’s.  


He stared mournfully out through the pitch, too entangled in his thoughts to hear the soft thump of someone landing behind him.

“_Potter_. Come to reminisce about the glory days?” __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Harry turned sharply and found himself face to face with Malfoy, who was stepping off his broom with a smirk. 

“What- no,” Harry started, caught off guard. “I came here for a walk. Not that it’s any of your business, Malfoy.” 

He glanced over at the blonde, deciding that he probably hadn’t come from teaching class, as he still wore his crisp robes. Though, to be honest, he couldn’t imagine an adult Malfoy wearing Quidditch gear for some reason. It probably looked so laughable that he avoided changing entirely. 

“Not very friendly, are we? No wonder the Weaslette sent you away, so she could take a break from your sunny disposition.” 

“Listen here, Malfoy-” Harry started with a sneer, then remembered his vow to put the past behind him. _Be an adult_. “Never mind. Just go practice your dives or something.” __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Mentally, he congratulated himself for his restraint. After all, maybe his nemesis had changed, though it seemed unlikely.

Malfoy didn’t seem impressed though. In fact, his smirk twisted into a scowl, and Harry had learned to expect that something worse was coming. 

“Taking a walk to clear your head of a _certain song_ perhaps?” __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Harry’s head snapped up. “It was you then?” 

“You have no proof.” Malfoy leaned back against a tree with grace, smirk tugging at his lips once more. 

“You right foul git! The boggart too then? And the books? Don’t you have better things to do?” he added with a hint of desperation coloring his voice. 

Malfoy’s responding laugh was somehow both condescending and self-deprecating at once. “I’m the flying coach. I have plenty of free time.” He studied his nails in the evening light. “Not that I’m the one who performed such admirable feats,” he added. 

After the paranoia and humiliation of the past few days, Harry was livid. “You ruined my class, you prat! Do you know how stupid I looked, standing there without a boggart for my boggart lesson?”

“Regrettably no, but I live to imagine it,” Malfoy said with a snort.

“They thought I was mad!” Harry continued, ignoring him. “Honestly, _I_ thought I was mad.” He was gripping his wand now, and he noticed Malfoy’s hand flick to his robe pocket in response. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

“And the books? What the fuck were you thinking?! You think I like being reminded of all the slander about me in the news?”

“Obviously not. That was kind of the point.” 

Harry took a menacing step towards Malfoy, wanting to throttle him, magic or not. In the back of his mind, he noted that at some point the man had grown taller than him, and he had to tilt his chin up to face him. 

“Merlin, I was such an idiot to think that you’d have changed. You’re still the same evil, selfish prat you were back in school! You-” 

Harry’s hand twitched towards Malfoy, and suddenly his wand was flying across the field before he could even think of an appropriate hex to cast. He stared in shock at Malfoy’s outstretched wand arm, still aimed at his chest. It had all happened so fast. 

“You’re so predictable, Potter. Still thinking everything is black and white, and no one outside of Gryffindor is worth your while.” Malfoy dug the tip of his wand into Harry’s sternum. 

“Why? You want to know _why_ I did it?” He leaned closer, and Harry swore he saw past all the jokes and pretenses and found real anger in those sparking grey eyes. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

“I don’t do well with being ignored.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for coming back for chapter 2!!
> 
> Once again, this story is a slow burn, so it'll definitely get spicier as it goes on. I'm planning to update weekly on Tuesdays, so I hope you'll all stick with me as we get there! :)
> 
> P.S. There is no universe where Harry is a good, organized teacher.


	3. Awkward Dates

Harry’s chest was pounding, and he couldn’t decide if it was anger, adrenaline, or...something else. All he knew in that moment was the feel of the sharp wand digging into him and the sight of those stormy grey eyes boring into his. He didn’t think he could look away if he wanted to, so he didn’t try.  
  
He felt like there was something in that look, something in this moment that was there if he could find it - if he could just catch the subtext and decode it. He had never understood Malfoy, and now was no different; the only variance was that, for the first time, Harry _wanted_ to understand. There was something Malfoy was telling him with his eyes, and Harry felt his frustration reach fever pitch at not being able to comprehend what it was.  
  
He had to ask. He needed to know. “What-”  
  
But the second he started, he realized his mistake, as Malfoy looked away like he’d broken free of an enchantment. He huffed and pulled his wand from Harry’s chest with a flick, grabbing his broom as he turned away.  
  
“What do you mean?” Harry called after his retreating back, more than a little bewildered.  
  
Malfoy paused, still not facing him. “Think about it, Potter.”  
  
Then he slipped onto his broom and flew up into the air. 

  


Harry thought about it all evening, and still hadn’t figured it out. “What does he _want_?” he muttered to himself, slamming his head down onto the book in front of him. The portraits in his office whispered to themselves about him, but at this point, he had just stopped caring.  
  
It was then that he heard a light rapping on his door.  
  
“Come in.”  
  
Minerva surprised him by entering his office. “Harry, I have a proposition for you-” She paused once her eyes fell on him. “Are you quite alright?”  
  
He looked up from where his head rested on the desk and decided that he must look quite emphatically not alright from her perspective. He sat up, running a hand through his ruffled bangs. “I’m fine, Minerva, just tired. What can I do for you?”  
  
“Well, if you’re sure,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you about Head of Gryffindor House. As I’m sure you know, I’ve been retaining my position as the Head since the craziness of the battle. But I’m sure you can also appreciate how that was a temporary solution, as it would be unprofessional for a Headmaster to hold onto such a role that clearly favors a certain House.”  
  
Harry waited. He sensed where this was going, and he didn’t like it.  
  
“As such, I would like you to consider taking on the Head of Gryffindor role in my place. It won’t require much - just guiding the first years around a bit more through the first month or so. Your suite is already not too far from Gryffindor tower, so you wouldn’t have to move or anything. And the students do look up to you so much already.”  
  
Harry was silent for a long moment, his chin resting on steepled fingers. Though, the pause was more to indulge himself and how weary he was; in the end, he could never refuse Minerva when she believed in him.  
  
“Alright. I understand.” He glanced up at her with the beginnings of a smile. “I’m sure I won’t be any good at it, unlike you.”  
  
She smiled in return, and a certain tension seemed to leave her body. “Thank you, Harry. It means a lot.”  
  
“I’m serious though, I’m a rubbish role model. I probably broke every school rule when I was here.”  
  
She laughed - another sound Harry had missed. “Oh, I’m quite aware of your transgressions, Mister Potter. Nonetheless, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Her smile turned teasing. “Though, I must say, I’ve noticed you haven’t deducted any points from students yet. You’re allowed to do that now - to keep them in line.”  
  
Harry shrugged, raking a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I suppose I forget that I can do that now. I’m not really used to the whole ‘professor’ thing yet.”  
  
In the comfortable moment that followed, Minerva looked around his office and seemed quietly amused. “I like what you’ve done with the place by the way. Though, I must say I’m surprised - you pick up Skeeter for some light reading?” She gestured to a copy of _The Boy Who Lived: Loves, Lies, and Loneliness_ that he had somehow missed and was lying on a chair.  
  
“That’s not- I mean, I would never…” Harry cleared his throat. “Someone’s been playing a few pranks on me is all.”  
  
“Of course.” She headed for the door, but paused at the threshold. “Well, I won’t keep you from your course-planning. Give my regards to Mister Malfoy.”  
  
She walked away before she could see Harry’s jaw agape with indignant shock. 

  


“Harry, it’s so _nice_ to see you!” Ginny crooned.  
  
He had officially survived his first two weeks of classes, so she had decided to pay a visit to celebrate. In line with Harry’s recent motivation to rekindle old friendships, they had invited Neville and Hannah to join them in Hogsmeade at Madam Puddifoot’s. They had all shared some tea and fun memories, though now Ginny had taken to announcing how “nice” everything was, which made Harry worry that maybe it wasn’t all fine and “nice” after all.  
  
“Yeah Gin, it’s nice to see you too. How’s the Burrow been?” He was a little embarrassed by talking with her like this in front of Neville, so he fidgeted with his empty cup and saucer.  
  
“Oh you know mum - she’s been lamenting the day you left. Claims you’re her favorite child, and she never even birthed you! She’s knitted at least a dozen Christmas jumpers for you in this past week alone.”  
  
Ginny rested her hand on his thigh affectionately, and Harry smiled tightly before looking away.  
  
“Neville! How’re the second years handling the mandrakes?” he blurted, trying to redirect the focus from him and Ginny.  
  
“Pretty well, I’d say. Only two passed out, which is down from the average, so I’d say we’re having a rather successful year.”  
  
“I remember when Malfoy fainted in our class.” Harry had meant it as a joke, but once it was out, he realized it was just an oddly-placed statement.  
  
Ginny gave him a considering look, though Neville played along. “Yeah mate, I remember that. Thought he was too good for earmuffs or something. You’d think a poncey guy like him would enjoy wearing ‘em.”  
  
“Exactly,” Harry said, a little too emphatically. “I wonder whether he’d wear them now.”  
  
Now it was Neville’s turn to give Harry a strange look.  
  
“I’ve heard his class is rather popular with the students though,” Hannah chimed in.  
  
_“Really?”_  
  
“I mean, that’s not too unusual, is it?” Neville said. “People generally like flying.”  
  
“Yeah, but it’s _Malfoy_,” Harry retorted. “He’s capable of souring even the most pleasant topics.”  
  
Ginny, whose look of boredom had changed into a scowl over the past minute, took this chance to chime in. “Geez Harry, if you’re so obsessed with Malfoy’s teaching methods, why don’t you just go sit in on one of classes and see for yourself?”  
  
Harry spluttered. He didn’t say much after that, and they ended their lunch soon after. 

  


The next morning, Harry entered the Great Hall for breakfast with some reluctance. After careful consideration, he had decided that he would sit near Malfoy today as part of an experiment. Though Harry still didn’t understand the reasoning behind his statement, the prat had said he didn’t like “being ignored.” Following logic then, if Harry _didn’t_ ignore him, then maybe the pranks would stop.  
  
Of course, subjecting himself to Malfoy’s presence was a torture all its own.  
  
When Harry got to the table, he slung himself into the chair to Malfoy’s right, taking small pleasure in the way the man’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.  
  
“Potter,” Malfoy said, lowering and folding his newspaper onto the table. “What are you doing?” His chin jutted aggressively, and he looked at Harry through narrowed eyes.  
  
“Well, since you ‘don’t like being ignored,’ I figured you were terribly lonely over here at this end of the table. So I thought I’d share my _illuminating_ presence with you.”  
  
Harry could almost hear Malfoy grinding his teeth at the sarcastic response, and he had to hold back a grin of triumph.  
  
“So that’s what this is? A charity case?”  
  
“Well I’m certainly not getting paid for this.”  
  
“Very funny.” Malfoy’s tone was lethal.  
  
After a moment of tense silence, Harry took pity on him. “Look, I just want you to stop the pranks, alright? Teaching is hard enough as it is.”  
  
“So you think you can ‘take one for the team’ and sit with me once, make snide comments, and suddenly be absolved of any complications in your life?” Malfoy pushed his chair back with a screech and stood. “Sorry, no deal.”  
  
After he’d walked away, Harry muttered, “What the hell is his problem?” He sighed and stirred his porridge, lost in a whirlwind of defensiveness, guilt, and ever-mounting confusion. 

  


In his classes that day, Harry couldn’t help asking his first year students about how they liked flying lessons. In a casual and totally normal way, of course.  
  
Most of the responses were positive, though one boy voiced that Malfoy was too strict with them and docked House points for hitting bludgers at their friends (which, to Harry, seemed a startlingly reasonable response). Some of the girls shyly mentioned how he looked nice in his Quidditch gear, to which Harry barely contained a snort of laughter in imagining perfectionist Malfoy in anything other than clean, pressed robes.  
  
Harry realized he hadn’t seen him play proper Quidditch since third year - and they had been gawky teenagers then, so he didn’t feel like it would be the same.

  


Indulging his curiosity, however, proved to be a fatal mistake. In the afternoon, he had been grading class three’s first quiz - a rather dismal affair - when he had heard a sharp rapping at the door.  
  
Figuring it was Minerva again (with more responsibilities to heap upon him), he had let out a friendly “Come in!” Therefore, he was quite shocked when, instead of their fearless Headmaster, a deviously-smirking Malfoy sauntered into his office.  
  
Harry blinked a few times, waiting for the image to change to one less surprising. “Malfoy. What are you doing here?” he said at last.  
  
Instead of responding right away, Malfoy breezed into the room, meandering past his bookshelf and eyeing the titles with a placid smile upon his face. Any trace of his earlier angst seemed to have been wiped away. “What, I can’t make a social call? Surely, someone’s come to visit The Boy Who Lived at some point in his life.”  
  
“Yeah, I have friends, Malfoy. You’re just not one of them. What do you want?”  
  
The man continued to move through the room performatively, touching as many things as he could. He even picked up the Skeeter book, and with a devilish glance at Harry, started scanning the index.  
  
“I heard an interesting rumor today,” he said after flipping through several pages.  
  
Harry leaned back in his chair, annoyed, but seeing that he would have to watch this travesty play out. “Oh? And what was that?”  
  
Malfoy continued to page through the book, raising his eyebrows and nodding appreciatively at whatever horrible lie he found. _The dramatic prat._  
  
“See, a little birdie told me that you’re interested in my class. My...what did they say?” He glanced up at the sky and paused theatrically. “Oh right. You want to know my _teaching methods_.”  
  
His eyes met Harry’s, and he swore the temperature rose ten degrees for no discernible reason. He gulped.  
  
“I think you’re putting too much stock in bad rumors,” Harry managed, his throat suddenly feeling dry.  
  
Instead of ending the conversation like he had hoped, Malfoy turned with sudden fervor. “Yes, that’s _exactly_ what I was thinking. So I decided to check with Hannah.”  
  
Harry’s blood went cold.  
  
Malfoy, clearly enjoying himself immensely, was pretending to read again. “And, from what I found out, you seem _more_ than a little interested.”  
  
Harry was mortified by this turn of events, and, as such, let the silence drag on until it was unbearable. “What did she say?”  
  
Malfoy glanced up with the smugness of a cat who’d caught its mouse. “Oh, I’m glad you asked. She said something about your desire to watch me teach - to ‘sit in on some of my classes.’” He snapped the book shut and caught Harry’s gaze. “The word ‘obsessive’ may or may not have been mentioned.”  
  
Harry flushed. He looked away first, though he didn’t mean to, and endured the sound of Malfoy’s victorious chuckle.  
  
“That’s not how it happened… I- I’m just sure you look ridiculous as a flight instructor, and thought it’d be funny to see it!”  
  
When Harry looked back up, he saw Malfoy raise a sculpted eyebrow.  
  
“Then by all means, Potter. Come _see_.” He set the book down in front of Harry on the desk, his delicate fingers lingering on the cover as he leaned in and smirked one last time.  
  
With a challenge in his voice, he added: “Class starts at three.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Once more, thanks for reading! Next time we'll get some of that Quidditch action I know you all have been waiting for with bated breath.
> 
> Oh, and I (half) apologize for the fake-out title. (It's fun for me.) 
> 
> xoxo


	4. The Only Way He Knew How to Fly

Harry was losing his fucking mind. He had spent the past twenty minutes following Malfoy’s departure staring at the wall. Three o’clock was looming closer and closer, and Harry had no idea what he was going to do.  
  
He couldn’t go to the class. If he did, Malfoy would win this round, having successfully manipulated him into doing his bidding. And that would only make the bastard _more_ smug the next time he wanted something. On principle, Harry refused to acquiesce to Malfoy’s demands.  
  
But on the other hand, Harry couldn’t _not_ go - if he failed to show up, he would be seen as a coward. And Harry was many things, but a coward was not one of them.  
  
Besides, when Ginny had mentioned the idea in the first place, a part of him had agreed with her. He was curious, after all, how Malfoy approached teaching. Was he a harsh coach? Did he watch over his students with relaxed indifference? Maybe Harry could suck up his pride and go see the class once - if only to get this madness out of his system.  
  
He only feared what would happen if that didn’t work.  
  
With a groan, he heaved himself to his feet and tidied up his desk to keep his hands busy while he decided. He picked up the Skeeter book and pulled his wand out to change it back, when he found himself hesitating. Thoughts of Malfoy’s hands gracefully turning its pages sprang unbidden to his mind.  
  
Harry had never been curious about Skeeter’s slander before, but somehow it felt wrong that Malfoy knew these supposed “facts” about him, while Harry himself did not. Maybe he’d glance through it later to see how ridiculous it all was. But he was too much on edge to do it now.  
  
This was absurd - if he was going to obsess like this (Harry cursed his word choice, as Malfoy’s smooth voice from just minutes ago repeated “obsessed” back to him, an image of the man’s slate eyes cutting towards his) - he might as well just go and sate his curiosity.  
  
He set the book back on the desk and headed to the Quidditch pitch. 

  


By the time Harry had reached the training fields, it was nearly twenty past three. He refused to rush there on principle, reasoning that Malfoy should be grateful he came at all, and that it was also a good way to flex his control over the situation.  
  
When he reached the pitch, however, first year students were just beginning to meander over from the locker rooms. He picked out Kayla - one of the more talkative first years - and pulled her aside to ask a few questions.  
  
“Hey, Kayla!”  
  
She looked up at him with wide, confused eyes as she pulled at one of her incorrectly-secured knee pads.  
  
“Hi Professor Potter, sir.”  
  
“Hey, I was wondering - what time does your class start?”  
  
“3:30. Why sir?”  
  
“Oh, no reason.” _He was going to kill Malfoy_. “Just thought I’d come to watch...and, er, offer some advice.”  
  
She lit up. “Oh, you’re here for the scrimmage then? Mister Malfoy told us about it last week!”  
  
“Um. Come again?”  
  
“The match! Mister Malfoy said that you would verse him in a one-on-one scrimmage sometime as an example, sir!” She looked at him then, confusion dimming her excitement for a moment. “But you knew that, right, Professor?”  
  
Harry forced a smile and looked away. “Of course. He told you _last week_, you say?”  
  
She nodded, but Harry had already started walking with measured steps towards Malfoy, who had just appeared from the castle and was striding towards the class with broom in hand. It took all his restraint not to run and tackle him to the ground and start punching him like Fred had done fifth year.  
  
Malfoy, noticing Harry, grinned broadly as he neared. Then Harry realized his dilemma: he had to get to him before got too close to the students, or he wouldn’t be able to yell at him properly. However, seeming to sense this plan, Malfoy strode even faster, positively beaming with his cheshire smile, and reaching a clump of kids before Harry could cut him off.  
  
_Damn him and his graceful gait_, Harry thought as he came to a stop and huffed.  
  
“Malfoy.” He wanted to say more - to punch him in the face, really - but he couldn’t with everyone listening. “Can I have a quick word?”  
  
His voice may have been oozing false professionalism, but Malfoy’s was sickly sweet in comparison. “Oh, _hello_ there Professor Potter! What can I do for you today?” His eyes danced with merriment, and Harry could’ve sworn he saw Malfoy’s cheek twitching from holding in a laugh.  
  
Harry clenched his fists. “I’d like a word. Alone.”  
  
Malfoy’s smirk widened. “As much as I’d love to speak with you privately, Professor Potter-” he raised a brow suggestively, making Harry splutter, “I’m afraid I have a class to teach.” He shrugged in fake apology, gesturing towards his students, who gathered more closely around them now.  
  
_Dammit_. “I...Fine, _after_ class then.”  
  
“Mmm,” Malfoy made a noncommittal sound. “I’ll see if I can pencil you in. I’m a busy man.” And he was definitely biting his lip now to hold back laughter.  
  
Harry was going to break his face.  
  
The git waited until Harry had started walking away to call him again.  
  
“Oh, Professor Potter! Is this about the scrimmage? You don’t have to worry, I’ll go easy on you. I’d hate to make you look bad in front of your admiring students.”  
  
Harry stopped in his tracks, blood boiling. He turned around slowly. “That won’t be necessary-”  
  
“I know it’s been a long time since you played, so I understand that you’re nervous. But I’m sure you’ll do fine. Here kids, tell him he’ll do just fine!”  
  
With horror, Harry endured a chorus of “You’ll do great, Professor!”s from the genuine students.  
  
He was thoroughly humiliated and beyond furious with Malfoy.  
  
“Now you listen here-” he started. He paused, trying to censor his words. “I’m not that concerned about it,” he finally spat, before schooling his tone. “I just, erm-” he cleared his throat, “what I was going to talk with you about was completely unrelated.”  
  
He paused, realizing how much worse that made it sound somehow, like he had _personal business_ with Malfoy, and suddenly everyone was looking at him and waiting for him to continue, and he could feel a blush rising to his cheeks, and absolutely _fuck_ this.  
  
“Fine,” he wilted. “What’s the plan?”  
  
“So eager,” Malfoy tutted. “I have to teach my lesson first, Professor Potter. You can gear up in the meantime though,” he said, shooing Harry towards the locker rooms where he knew they kept extra pads and brooms.  
  
Harry stalked away, considering leaving for good, but knowing he couldn’t manage it without being the gossip of the school. He stepped into the locker rooms, his foul mood tempered by nostalgia for the place. It hadn’t changed at all. Knee pads, elbow pads, chest plates, and headgear hung from hooks and dotted the floor in messy piles. The whole room had a moldy, sweaty sort of smell, but Harry didn’t mind it. Him and Ron had shared many good laughs in here.  
  
Harry began stripping down, opting for the stretchier gown and pants to go under his pads rather than the slacks and collared shirt he had under his robes. He had just peeled off his shirt, when he heard the door creak open.  
  
Harry flipped around, covering himself in panic.  
  
“Malfoy, what the fuck-”  
  
Malfoy took a step back, throwing his hands up like he was genuinely surprised as well.  
  
“Easy, Potter. I’m just getting Jimmy a new broom.”  
  
He seemed earnest, but it all became more confusing as his eyes slid down the length of Harry’s torso before quickly flicking back up to meet Harry’s gaze again like the move had been unintentional.  
  
Harry’s heart was racing. His illogical mind also took that moment to process the fact that Malfoy had been wearing his Quidditch gear this whole time...and it didn’t look laughable at all. The leather pads contoured his sleek physique, and the cut-off leather gloves gave a rugged air to his delicate hands. Merlin damn him, the outfit looked like it was _made_ for Malfoy. Harry’s palms began to sweat.  
  
Abruptly, the blonde turned and snatched a broom from its holder on the wall and swept out of the room. Was that a bit of pink coloring his cheeks as well?  
  
Harry quickly finished dressing, then sat heavily on the bench. What was wrong with him? He pressed a hand to his chest, wondering at the way it still pounded. Since he wasn’t in danger, he supposed he could rule out adrenaline. Why was _Malfoy_ of all people the one to elicit such a strong reaction in him? The man was definitely up to something.  
  
Harry tapped his foot to siphon some of this random energy that was less like anger and more like...nervousness. Fuck, he still had to go out there and play _Quidditch_ \- in front of an audience. How the hell was he supposed to manage that when his emotions were such a wreck?

  


After counting to a hundred several times, Harry forced himself to grab a broom (all Nimbus 2001s from Lucius all those years ago) and walk back out to the training fields. He looked up - with surprise - to see Malfoy and his whole class flying in a loose circle around the training field. No students were flailing about with broken bones or veering off to fly into the horizon, which was honestly how he imagined the class would go. (As someone who had only taken flying lessons for a day before he “graduated” to the Gryffindor team though, he supposed he wasn’t the utmost authority on the matter.)  
  
“Jimmy - keep your broom angled up, or you’ll keep losing altitude! I got you a new broom that’s easier to handle, for Merlin’s sake. Meredith, no elbowing! Save it for a real Quidditch game.”  
  
Malfoy shouted notes of improvement to the class, but - Harry was shocked - he also gave words of encouragement and praise.  
  
“Tanya, nice form! Abe, do it like she does - that’s it, you almost have it!”  
  
He didn’t think he’d ever heard Malfoy saying a nice thing to anybody, and he honestly hadn’t expected to in this lifetime. Maybe this was one of the changes Minerva had seen in him when she accepted his application.  
  
As if sensing the train of Harry’s thoughts (and wishing to dispel them) Malfoy caught his eye and commented. “Ah, looks like the savior of the wizarding world is ready to fly! Could we get you up here to demonstrate a few maneuvers, _Professor Potter_?”  
  
Harry was irked with him, but it was pushed to the back of his mind as he took off on his broom and swept up into the air with a flourish. He sped towards them, feeling the warm air ruffle his hair, the broom feeling good and solid under his hands. With a spin, he came to a halt in front of the students, causing some to cheer (and Malfoy to roll his eyes dramatically). Merlin, he had missed flying like this.  
  
He smiled broadly at the students, and Malfoy cleared his throat to the left.  
  
“Yes, yes, now that that’s all over with…” He drew his wand from the pocket of his robes, flicking it in the direction of the small case on the ground below. “_Alohamora!_”  
  
As the students watched in wonder, the case banged open, and the bludger shot into the air. But Harry, unlike the others, was fixated on the smooth lines of Malfoy’s outstretched wand arm, and how his other hand gripped his broom with casual confidence. Harry’s palms were sweating again, and when Malfoy turned to him, he shook himself from the daze and looked away a little too fast. Because he did not want to see the ineffable smirk undoubtedly writing itself across the man’s face.  
  
“Alright,” Malfoy continued, bludger and bat now in hand, “let’s see a Sloth Grip Roll!”  
  
Without any more warning than that, Malfoy hit the bludger directly at Harry’s chest.  
  
He rolled under his broom and back up again - Seeker instincts managing to save him just in time - and he thanked his years of Quidditch practice for the muscle memory.  
  
He caught his breath. He _meant_ to say: “_What the hell_?” but somehow the adrenaline made him yell: “Try again, Malfoy!”  
  
He was mad, he really was, but there was also a thrill to this kind of sheer physical challenge.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes gleamed across the field. “Will do. Hmm, what shall I try next then?”  
  
“I could show off the Transylvanian Tackle,” Harry suggested, smirking.  
  
“You wish,” sneered Malfoy, who knew as well as he did that Harry would just punch him in the face for real instead of the fake-out maneuver. “How about a spiral dive?”  
  
In response, Harry twirled towards the ground, feeling the centripetal force as he accelerated. He pulled up at the last moment, his broom swerving a bit with his dizziness, before eventually evening out.  
  
He glanced up and was rewarded to see that even Malfoy looked a little impressed. His mood dipped a bit when he remembered that he wasn’t trying to impress Malfoy.  
  
After a few more dives and dodges, Malfoy summoned the bludger and quaffles back to their case. “Well, well, Professor Potter - you seem all warmed up. How about that scrimmage?”  
  
Harry felt that something about Malfoy calling him “professor” so many times was also warming him up, but didn’t even understand it enough himself to articulate.  
  
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”  
  
At that, Malfoy had his class descend to the ground so they could watch and take notes without falling off their brooms. Several of the students were already choosing their favorite to win, though he was surprised that it seemed an almost even split. More Slytherins were on Malfoy’s side though, naturally.  
  
“Write down all of the flying and blocking techniques you recognize from our game. Next class, we’ll see if I can possibly teach you one or two.” There was a buzz of excitement through the class.  
  
“Now then,” Malfoy said, drawing the snitch from his robes pocket with a smirk, “let’s get started.”  
  
Harry shot forward like a bullet as soon as the snitch took flight. It danced around Malfoy’s head for a moment, swerving upwards at the last second just when Harry was about to collide with the Slytherin. He followed it up - twenty, forty, sixty feet before it swiveled and headed towards the practice goalposts.  
  
He could feel himself gaining, when something slammed into his side. He glowered as Malfoy’s body-check slowed him a moment, but it was long enough for the man to get ahead. Then, trees were coming up in front of them, and the snitch darted into the cover.  
  
He pulled short, floating by the treeline, and Malfoy followed suit. They waited.  
  
“Having fun, Potter?” he teased. The man was physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.  
  
“Actually yes. But I’m still furious with you.” With the class out of hearing distance, he was finally able to be honest.  
  
Malfoy laughed. “Imagine how mad you’ll be when I beat you in front of your students.”  
  
Harry turned towards him with a scowl. “Shut up. That’s not going to happen.” His eyes searched the sky beyond the man’s head, and he was suddenly struck with a memory of that game all those years ago where the snitch had hovered behind Malfoy while, ignorant of that fact, the boy carried on insulting him.  
  
Now, like then, Malfoy was totally focused on watching him instead of the snitch. Harry got an idea.  
  
He dove towards the ground, hand outstretched like he was closing in. Harry smirked as he saw Malfoy follow suit in his periphery. He kept streaking closer and closer to the pitch - until he wasn’t even sure he would be able to pull up in time - then shot horizontal with a quick directional change.  
  
With a glance over his shoulder, Harry noted with disappointment that Malfoy had also managed to pull up in time.  
  
“That was almost a perfect Wrongski Feint!” one of the students shouted.  
  
Malfoy hovered about fifteen feet away. “You can’t expect to keep winning with the same moves, Potter.”  
  
“Then why’d you fall for it?” Harry countered.  
  
“I want to give my students good examples,” Malfoy lied sweetly.  
  
“Yeah right-” Harry started.  
  
They both noticed the snitch at the same time. It buzzed near the ground on the other side of the pitch. Both men shot forward in synchronous motion, hands outstretched as they rapidly neared their target. As they got closer and closer, he felt Malfoy elbow him. He elbowed back, and then, neither one wanting to lose speed, stayed pressed side to side as they continued forward.  
  
Harry’s heart was thundering from the exertion and thrill of the chase; and in that way adrenaline seemed to slow the world down to crystal clarity, he felt his thigh and calf burning where they were in contact with Malfoy.  
  
It made him want to do what he had never done before in a game - look away from the snitch.  
  
He fought the urge - not even sure where it came from - and with a surge of willpower and speed, he lunged for the snitch and caught it.  
  
He stopped sharply, and his broom tangled with Malfoy’s at the sudden change in velocity, throwing the man tumbling to the grass a few feet below.  
  
For a moment, he was still, and Harry wondered if he’d been knocked out.  
  
Then, he stirred and propped himself up with leanly muscled arms. Blades of grass fell from his uncharacteristically rumpled blonde hair, and he smeared dirt across his face unknowingly as he wiped at his cheek. He had never seen Malfoy look so disheveled.  
  
Harry dropped to the ground and stepped off his broom, still frozen in the afterglow of winning. His hand held up the snitch, and he thought he could hear faint cheering from the class in the background. But as usual, Malfoy wasn’t looking at that. He was looking at Harry.  
  
And while a blush replaced the grin on Harry’s face, he realized that he may not have won this round after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, thanks for checking out chapter 4! Things are spicing up for our boys - but will Harry ever act on it? Only time will tell. 
> 
> One length update: I feel like this story is going to end up being much longer than I anticipated. I'm several chapters ahead, and things are still simmering on medium-low, so we'll see how long this goes. For the impatient readers, I'm sorry. For the slow-burn connosieurs, you're welcome. 
> 
> xoxo


	5. Harry's Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: masturbation

“So you refuse to play Quidditch with me for the better part of two years, then you go off and play with _Draco Malfoy_, is that it?”  
  
Ginny’s voice was loud and hurt, and Harry was desperately trying to calm her down before the whole school heard their row. She had Flooed over that night to visit and hang out, which had led to Harry casually mentioning the day’s events - evidently, a huge mistake.  
  
“Gin, it’s not like that, I’ve told you! I was trying to be _peaceful_ before, and separate myself from all that exciting stuff. To see who I was without it.”  
  
“Yeah? And what - you gave up? You realized you weren’t anybody without it?”  
  
Harry recoiled, stung. “Is that what you think?” he said softly.  
  
Ginny softened slightly. She collapsed onto the edge of his bed. “No, that’s not what I meant... But you’ve definitely been different since the war. Not just from grief, because we all experienced that, but something else. Like you became obsessed with keeping away any kind of emotion. You pushed your friends away; you pushed _me_ away.”  
  
“I needed to know who I _was_ underneath everything.” He paced the length of his room, mocked by the cheery Gryffindor colors.  
  
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Harry! If you take away all your feelings and memories, that’s not you! There _isn’t_ some deeper, ‘untaintable essence’ of you that you can crack open and...and map. We’re all shaped by our emotions and relationships.”  
  
“I...Well, how do you know for sure?” Harry stopped moving and faced her, throwing his hands up with frustration. “It’s easy for you to say that, when you didn’t share a body with Voldemort’s soul for seventeen years!”  
  
She looked up sharply. “You _know_ I understand what it’s like. I’m the _only_ one who could possibly understand.”  
  
Harry huffed, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s not the same,” he said at last, because he could think of nothing else to say.  
  
After a long minute, Ginny stood and pushed past him. “I’m going home. You can go hang out with _Malfoy_ or something, since you can’t seem to stay away from him.”  
  
“What does that mean?” he yelled, but the green flames in the fireplace had already consumed her. 

  


He wasn’t _obsessed_. Why did everyone think he was obsessed? If anyone was _obsessed_, it was Malfoy - with the constant pranks and the way he watched Harry on the Quidditch pitch.  
  
Harry’s skin prickled with sudden heat. That line of thought was not helping him prove his point at all.  
  
Arguing with Ginny must’ve gotten him all riled up, he reasoned, because he felt the sudden need to wank. In panic, he assured himself that his job, life, and personal relations had all been very tense lately, so that’s what this was - relieving some of that tension.  
  
Besides, it had been a while since he’d done anything; it was only natural.  
  
He was _not_ obsessed with Draco Malfoy.  
  
With that final assertion, he flopped back onto his bed, trailing his hands down his stomach until they rested at his fly. He undid the button and pulled the zipper down roughly. Then, slipping a hand underneath his boxers, he grasped his dick and began stroking.  
  
He started off imagining Ginny: her cheeks flushed, her long red hair splayed across the sheets under him - though he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen that in person. He imagined her groaning, her brown eyes begging him for more - and then he faltered, remembering those same eyes shining with hurt not half an hour ago.  
  
He needed to think of something else.  
  
He started stroking again, more slowly this time, trying to envision a person of ambiguous features touching him instead. At first, their hair was red, like Ginny’s, but as he pumped harder, it started to look more blonde in his mind. That was fine. He imagined kissing this person, deep and hungry, running his hands up and down their back, grabbing their ass. He could almost feel their lean muscles under his hands, see their slate grey eyes opening with a gaze so intense, it burned him to his core.  
  
The last detail jarred him. In the back of Harry’s mind, he knew he should stop. This was dangerous - he should nip these thoughts in the bud and forget them. He was edging into territory that could not be reversed, discovering things he couldn’t undiscover.  
  
But it felt so good, and he couldn’t stop.  
  
In his mind, Harry leaned in for another kiss, more forceful this time. Then, he pulled back and shoved the man to the ground.  
  
Draco tumbled into the same position from earlier, propping himself up with his arms in the grass. He looked up at Harry through his disheveled hair, wiping at the dirt streaking his perfect cheekbone. He smirked.  
  
“See, Potter, you really _are_ obsessed with me.”  
  
Harry came with a shudder, watching those grey eyes in his mind until his body stopped twitching.  
  
He was only capable of thinking two things in that moment:  
  
Ginny was right.  
  
And he was so totally _fucked_. 

  


***

Harry woke up with bags under his eyes again from tossing and turning all night. Looking in the mirror, he wondered if teaching here would age him rapidly like it had Dumbledore. Soon, he would have sunken-in features and deep wrinkles, and he’d stop caring about simple tasks like shaving until his long beard flowed in the wind.  
  
Okay, maybe not _that_ far, but he was deliriously tired. What had last night meant? Was he _gay_ now? His mind raced through the implications of everything. No, no - he was probably bi. After all, he hadn’t been lying to Ginny all these years about finding her attractive. That was another reason he hadn’t noticed these particular..._feelings_ towards Malfoy. It was different - being attracted to a bloke versus a woman. Not that one was right or wrong or even stronger than the other feeling, just different.  
  
With Ginny, he wanted to kiss her a bit after a long day and have sex if they were both feeling spunky. With Malfoy, he wanted to...well, he honestly still wanted to punch him in the face, but then make out after or something. He was still very confused as to what he wanted from him. This was all so new.  
  
And he was a bit scared, if he was being truthful. Scared of how people would react if they knew that the great “Savior of the Wizarding World” liked blokes, but also scared of himself. Was he going mad? This was _Draco Malfoy_, his nemesis since age eleven. Former _Death Eater_, Draco Malfoy, he reminded himself. The prat had been so arrogant and cruel throughout their childhoods, that he used to think him unreformable.  
  
_But now?_ a voice in the back of his head whispered. Now, he wasn’t sure. Malfoy seemed to have changed in small ways - his ability to encourage students, the politeness towards other professors (even if with Harry he was just plain sarcastic), his insults holding less bite than they used to. Whether his views had changed or not, however, remained to be determined.  
  
Regardless, he _had_ to discuss this with Ginny. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise. Oh, but he dreaded that conversation. He would give everything a few days to sink in before confronting her.  
  
Despite the guilt and confusion though, there was still something a little bit thrilling about this kind of discovery. He understood now why there’d been such tension between him and Malfoy, why his heart would randomly start racing when they argued. _What would Malfoy do if he knew?_ Harry could never tell him. He didn’t even know if Malfoy liked men in the first place, let alone a man who was also his lifelong enemy.  
  
No, he couldn’t ever find out.  
  
But then how was Harry supposed to act around him? That last question confronted Harry sooner rather than later, as he decided that he really needed to go down to breakfast today, if only to get some coffee before class. The whole walk between the Great Hall doors and the table, he fluctuated between deciding to sit with Malfoy or literally anywhere else.  
  
On the one hand, he really should stay away - it would be easier to hide this newfound knowledge (knowledge that he wasn’t confident he could keep off his face when they spoke). And maybe avoiding him would quell these inappropriate feelings. Then, he could go back to normal with Ginny as well.  
  
But on the other hand, he didn’t want that at all. He doubted it was even possible. He wanted to sit near him and hear his silken voice and look at him, letting himself fully appreciate how handsome the man was for the first time in his life.  
  
_If I ignore him, he’ll pull pranks on me again_, Harry reasoned with himself. Though, in the moment, he was so confused with his feelings that he wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing.  
  
“Potter,” Malfoy said, like he had a thousand times before, but _this_ time it sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. The blonde looked up at him, folding his paper and laying it on the table. His one utterance settled the matter instantly - Harry sat next to him.  
  
“Malfoy. How’s it going?”  
  
He watched as Malfoy froze and turned to him with suspicion. Harry cursed himself. He’d _never_ asked Malfoy “how’s it going” before like a blithering idiot.  
  
“I mean, you lost pretty badly yesterday,” Harry rushed on after a beat. “I know _I’d_ hate to show my face in front of my students if I’d lost like that.”  
  
Malfoy sneered and took a bite of his apple. “It’s going just _fine_, thank you.” He paused, tapping his fingers on the table. “And I had to let you win, or I’d get complaints from parents for weeks about ‘ruining their kid’s heroes’ or something equally asinine.”  
  
Harry felt his temper flare, but less intensely than before. “Yes, of course. You just sped all the way up to the snitch, _didn’t_ catch it, then threw yourself off your broom _on purpose_.”  
  
Malfoy smirked. “That’s right, Potter. A Gryffindor like you wouldn’t understand.”  
  
Harry muttered a “sure, sure” and then proceeded to devour several slices of quiche in silence, forcing himself not to stare at the man next to him. He was about to take a sip of juice when he saw Malfoy’s hand reaching for him. He jumped, spilling the glass across the table and all over himself.  
  
Malfoy, who had been reaching for a roll on a plate in front of Harry - and not for Harry at all - gave him a look like he was a complete idiot. (Which, all things considered, was relieving, since that at least was on par with normal).  
  
“Dammit,” Harry muttered, grabbing the napkin closest to him and blotting. He belatedly realized it was Malfoy’s. “Aw, shit! Sorry.”  
  
He threw the napkin back onto the table with a little too much force and then fumbled in his pocket for his wand.  
  
“_Scourgify!_”  
  
By now, Harry could feel that he was beet-red and practically radiating heat from his cheeks. Did Malfoy _know?_ Had he given himself away?  
  
“Potter, are you-”  
  
“No!” Harry yelped at the same time Malfoy finished, “-feeling ill?”  
  
They both paused a moment in bewildered silence. Harry made the mistake of meeting Malfoy’s widened grey eyes, which snapped him into action.  
  
“Yes, actually! I’m not feeling great this morning. I’m just gonna, um, go clean up my shirt.” He lurched to his feet and turned to go.  
  
“Potter!” Malfoy called. And because Harry was an idiot, he stopped and looked back.  
  
Even looking completely befuddled, Malfoy was beautiful. His sharp cheekbones, his long lashes, the way his perfect lips pinched into a frown.  
  
“Potter, you have a _wand_, remember?”  
  
Harry panicked, looking down at the stain. “Um, did I say that I was going to clean up the juice? Hah, I meant ‘go to Madam Pomfrey’s.’ Really feeling off sorts this morning.” With that, he yanked his gaze away and left before he did something really stupid, like turn back one more time. 

  


“Hermione, I need your help.”  
  
Harry was hunched over the Floo in his room, hoping she’d be at home. It was times like these that he was immensely grateful Minerva had allowed him to connect his room to the Floo network - even if it had to stay closed most of the time.  
  
After a long minute, his friend’s face came into view.  
  
“Harry? What is it? Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes. No. I don’t know! Can you just come through?”  
  
“Oi, is that Harry?” Ron’s voice came into the background. “Hey, mate!”  
  
“Hey,” Harry said. “Look Ron, er, we can talk later and catch up, but I really need to borrow Hermione for a little while.”  
  
“Oh. Okay then.” Ron sounded a little disappointed, but Harry was barely brave enough to confess all this to Hermione - someone with a way better handle on people’s emotions.  
  
“Okay, Harry, I’m coming through,” Hermione said.  
  
With a whirl of flames and ashes, she stepped out of the fireplace. She brushed some soot from her clothes before facing him.  
  
“Harry, what’s going on? Did something happen in one of your classes?”  
  
“I…” Now that she was here, he felt the words dry up in his throat. “Here, let’s sit.”  
  
Hermione watched him with worry, but complied, taking a seat opposite him in an overstuffed chair. She waited.  
  
“Hermione, I think… Well, the thing is…” He restarted several more times before taking a deep breath and resting his face in his hands. Why was talking about feelings so much harder than fighting evil?  
  
“Harry, it’s okay.” He felt her hand resting on his shoulder, and that gave him the courage to go on.  
  
“I think I like men.”  
  
He heard her breath catch a little, but that was the only indication of surprise she gave.  
  
“I mean, in addition to women, of course,” he continued. “I wasn’t lying to Ginny. I mean, _am not_ lying to Ginny. It’s just all so confusing.”  
  
Hermione slipped onto the couch next to him, and her hand began rubbing small circles on his back. “Oh, Harry. It’s okay. First off, thank you for sharing this with me - I know it’s not easy for you. And second, it really is okay. And it’s going to _be_ okay.”  
  
“But it’s not!” He raised his head a little, hands bridging over his nose still, and stared ahead into the fire. “I had a fight with Ginny. She thinks I’ve been distant since the war.” He laughed: a dry, mirthless sound. “I suppose I have.”  
  
“Harry, that’s not your fault. You went through so much during that time. I’m sure she understands that.”  
  
“She understands...to a point. Gin is a person of action, you know? Like I was. _Am_. I don’t know anymore. That’s one of the things that drew me to her. But after the war, I just… I just needed to see how much of that was really...me.” He shuddered. “How much of it was _him_.”  
  
Hermione gently turned his face towards her. Her brown eyes shone with emotion. “Harry, look at me. You’re still _you_. The horcrux inside you didn’t shape your personality, _you_ did. Losing it was just like losing a bit of darkness deep down.”  
  
“How do you know?” he whispered.  
  
Her mouth quirked into a small smile. “I just do.”  
  
Despite the simplicity of the answer, Harry felt a sudden wave of relief wash over him. Hermione was the smartest and most intuitive person he knew, so her answer meant something. He could trust it.  
  
But then, he remembered his current dilemma, and his momentary relief drained away with a sigh.  
  
“I still don’t know what to do though...about _this_.” He gestured vaguely towards himself, hoping Hermione would understand what he was referring to.  
  
She cleared her throat delicately. “Is this perchance...about Malfoy?”  
  
Harry snapped to face her, eyes wide. “No! Why?” His cheeks flared to life, and he leapt up, ready to run out of the room.  
  
But then he remembered that was the reaction that had led him to this point. It was time to confront it, he realized with dread.  
  
“Fine, yes. It’s about Malfoy. But what makes you guess that?”  
  
Hermione sighed, seeming both relieved that she was correct and yet resigned to his answer.  
  
“Harry… Well, you aren’t exactly _subtle_ about it. I mean, sixth year-”  
  
“Sixth year?!” Harry butted in. “What about sixth year? I didn’t like him sixth year!”  
  
Hermione looked away, a little uncomfortable. “Harry, you _stalked_ him sixth year.”  
  
“_Well he was up to something, wasn’t he_?” Harry shouted. “Just like I told you!”  
  
She huffed. “Well, that might be true, but it doesn’t explain the amount of time you spent staring at him. Or watching his name on the Marauder’s Map late at night.”  
  
“How did you-”  
  
“_Ron_ told me, Harry! Even _Ron_ noticed. I remember him asking me if I thought you had a bit of a crush.”  
  
“That’s absurd,” Harry blustered. “I had my reasons.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“He was up to something.”  
  
Hermione sighed again. “Harry, listen. I get it. It makes sense that you were confused - you had these feelings that you didn’t really understand, and you sublimated them into what you thought made most sense at the time. By watching him, you could imagine you had a more intimate relationship than your rivalry allowed for, and by following him, you could think about what he was doing all the time. It’s all totally normal. For crushes.”  
  
Harry pondered that in shocked silence. _Had_ he found Malfoy attractive, even then? There was no way. Sure, he had wondered and imagined what Malfoy had been up to as he prowled the halls that year. Maybe he had even been wrong a few times when he thought the git was making evil potions in the third floor bathroom and burst in to find him washing his hands, looking affronted. But that was totally separate from sexual attraction.  
  
“That’s not why!” Harry said. But even to his own ears, he no longer sounded sure.  
  
After a long silence, Hermione spoke again. “Well, regardless of when this started, you have to talk with Ginny.”  
  
“I know, I know. I just...need some time to process first.”  
  
“That’s fair,” she said, standing. “But don’t leave it too long, or people will get hurt.” She straightened her pencil skirt. “Well, unless you want me to stay and chat, I should probably get back. I had just popped home on my lunch break, since I’d forgotten one of the books I needed to reference.”  
  
Right. Hermione and Ron had regular nine-to-fives now. “Of course,” he said quickly. “And thanks, Hermione. Really. I feel a bit better after talking about it.”  
  
She smiled at him. “You’re welcome. You can always talk to me about anything.” She gave him a tight hug before stepping into the Floo. 

  


And Harry was left alone to dwell on even more complicated feelings from sixth year and those haunted grey eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo!  
Our boy Harry is doing some self-reflection at long last. Tune in next week to see where that takes him!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!
> 
> xoxo


	6. Mister Professor Sir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: mild PTSD moment

In Harry’s afternoon classes that day, he taught the jelly-legs jinx - much to the delight of the second years. His goal had been to demonstrate how creative countercurses could buy time in a fight, though he honestly worried that no one was taking it seriously.  
  
“_Locomotor wibbly!_”  
  
Another student collapsed to the ground, setting off an unimpressive duel from the floor. Like most classes, Harry ended up taking one of his students to the hospital wing, this time from a boy banging his head on a desk as he fell.  
  
On the way, he spotted Malfoy crossing in the opposite direction. His heart pounded, and he forced himself to keep a straight face.  
  
“Malfoy.” He nodded to him.  
  
Malfoy glared at him. “Potter,” he all but spat, walking by without another word.  
  
Harry blinked several times. What was _that_ about? Just typical “nemesis” behavior?  
  
Could he possibly..._know?_  
  
They reached the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey rushed over to them with a scowl.  
  
“Oh, you again. Why don’t you make a greater effort to keep your students out of trouble, Mister Potter?”  
  
Even though he was a professor now, she still treated him like the rule-breaking, _bone_-breaking kid he had been. He smiled.  
  
“I do try, ma’am. It’s not my fault if they take after me.”  
  
“It most certainly _is_ your fault,” she huffed. “There haven’t even been so many injuries in the flying class this year, and that’s usually the number one cause.”  
  
Harry’s face heated, embarrassed that Malfoy was better than him at something after all.  
  
“Speaking of, did Mister Malfoy ever catch up with you?” she asked.  
  
Harry looked at her, confused. “When?”  
  
“Just a few minutes ago. He came looking for you - I figured it was teacher business.”  
  
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Had Malfoy been..._worried_ about him? He remembered their terse exchange in the hall. Only, if he had come looking, he wouldn’t have found Harry in the hospital wing like he’d said.  
  
_Was he mad I lied?_ Harry realized with a start. It had never crossed his mind that Malfoy would care one way or another about what he said or did - beyond insulting him, of course. But he was probably getting ahead of himself. Malfoy was Malfoy - he might have changed, but he couldn’t have morphed so dramatically that he would feel compassion for Harry when he was sick.  
  
Still.  
  
“I, um, have to go then. Teacher stuff. Take care, Brett!” He left his student with Madam Pomfrey and rushed out into the hall. Which way had Malfoy been going?  
  
He took off in the direction he thought was correct. 

  


Of course, it wasn’t. Harry had spent the better part of half an hour searching the halls before caving and asking someone if they knew where Malfoy’s office was. And so, forty five minutes later, Harry stood in front of an old oak door in the basement level, his hand raised to knock. He’d been gearing himself up to knock the whole way here, but now the small task seemed so daunting.  
  
Fuck it, he was a Gryffindor.  
  
A few moments after knocking, he heard the door click open. Malfoy, looking rather surprised, stood on the other side.  
  
“Potter? What do you want?” He gave him a once-over with his eyes. “I didn’t know you knew where my office was.”  
  
“I didn’t. Hannah told me.”  
  
“Why?” Malfoy hadn’t moved from the doorway, and he seemed to want Harry to make his point and then leave. Quickly.  
  
In panic, Harry blurted, “I heard you went to Madam Pomfrey’s looking for me.”  
  
It was the wrong thing to say.  
  
Malfoy bristled, narrowing his eyes at Harry. “Yes, you were acting so ridiculously this morning, I thought I’d go have a laugh.”  
  
_So that was it._  
  
“I, um, felt a little better, so I went and laid down for a bit in my room instead,” he said, not quite sure why he was explaining himself in the first place. “But thanks for checking on me, I guess.”  
  
Malfoy spluttered angrily. “I wasn’t ‘_checking on you_,’ you arrogant twat!” Dots of pink tinged his cheeks, and Harry couldn’t tell whether he was embarrassed or just apoplectic with rage. “You have plenty enough people to fawn over you!”  
  
Harry - mortified with even having suggested it - went on the defensive. “Well maybe if you weren’t such a git yourself, you’d have more people worrying about you!”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes widened at Harry’s audacity, then narrowed once more. “I’m perfectly _fine_ on my own! Unlike ‘Savior of the Universe’ over here, who needs to be the center of attention at every waking moment!”  
  
“I don’t want to be!”  
  
Harry stopped then, his shout - louder than he had planned - echoing in the cramped office behind Malfoy. He took a deep breath. “Look, I just...I came to ask if you...wanted to help me with one of my lessons tomorrow,” he improvised.  
  
Whatever Malfoy was expecting him to say, it clearly wasn’t this. His eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing behind his short, attractively-cut fringe. Expression working from surprise to considering, then settling into a flat, hardened look, Malfoy spoke.  
  
“What, you need a ‘big, evil _Death Eater_’ to practice against?” His voice was still joking, but there was an underlying venom.  
  
“What? No - I just know you’re good at dueling.”  
  
The expression softened a bit.  
  
“I came to one of your classes; I thought it’d be fitting if you came to mine,” Harry continued, beginning to feel foolish. He was talking way too much tonight.  
  
But Malfoy, sensing an advantage for himself, began to relax into his usual, snotty disposition. He crossed his arms and leaned languidly against the doorway. “Why should I help you? After all, like you said, ‘I shouldn’t want to show my face in front of the students after yesterday.’”  
  
He quirked a brow, and Harry thought he might melt.  
  
“No, I said ‘if it were _me_, I wouldn’t want to show my face.’” Harry grinned. “You should be used to it though, after losing so much.”  
  
Malfoy snorted, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling. “Fine, Potter.” After all, he had never been one to refuse a dare. “But only because you’re practically _begging_.”  
  
It was an offhand comment, but Harry felt his throat go dry as he imagined that statement in a different context. “Al-alright then,” he stammered. “Tomorrow.”  
  
He had started away, when Malfoy snorted again. “Potter.”  
  
Harry turned and looked. _Damn him_, he could never _not_ look back.  
  
“Potter, you haven’t given me a time.”  
  
“Oh, right.” _Let’s see, class was at 1, so_… “12:30.”  
  
Malfoy smirked, reading Harry’s gaze for a minute. “Okay. See you tomorrow at 1.”  
  
“I said-”  
  
“I know what you said, Potter, I have _ears_. But you should know,” he pushed off the wall and took a few predatory steps in Harry’s direction, “you can never win by using my own tricks against me.”  
  
Harry felt his breath catch, lost in that slate grey gaze, unsure what kind of game they were even talking about anymore.  
  
“And,” Malfoy came to a stop about a foot away, reaching his hand out for the wall next to Harry, “next time you come for a visit” - Harry’s heartbeat spiked at the proximity - “make sure to check my _office hours_,” he finished with a smirk.  
  
Harry glanced wildly to the wall on his side, where Malfoy was tapping a posted sheet with his long, delicate fingers.  
  
With a grin of triumph, Malfoy spun on his heels and swept back into his office, closing the door.  
  
Harry read the sign. Under the “Office Hours” header, there were a bunch of blank lines.  
  
_That bastard_. 

  


Harry dreamt of Malfoy that night. Shades of things that had happened that day replayed and warped - the quirk of an eyebrow, the softening of his expression after Harry invited him to class. Him reaching out past Harry; only in the dream, there was no “office hours” sheet; he pinned him to the wall - a hand to each side of Harry’s head - before leaning down to kiss him.  
  
The kiss was deep and rough, like his previous fantasy. Only this time, as it got more intense, Malfoy’s hand dipped down between his legs and grasped him through his trousers.  
  
“Well, well, Potter. Looks like you’re hot for a ‘_big, evil Death Eater_’ after all.”  
  
His deep, husky chuckle seemed to reverberate through Harry’s body, and before he knew it, he was waking up in a sweat surrounded by sticky sheets and confusion.  
  
“Fuck,” he mumbled. “This is getting out of hand.” 

  


By morning, he had convinced himself this was a terrible idea. If he couldn’t even face the man normally at breakfast, how was he supposed to _teach a class_ with him? What was worse, was that every time he envisioned Malfoy now, he saw the dream version leaning in and touching him. This was impossible.  
  
Through some act of god or magic, Harry hauled himself into the Great Hall for breakfast. And, after mentally preparing himself for so long, he was almost disappointed when he saw that Malfoy’s usual chair was empty. Sighing, he took a seat next to Neville and Hannah at the other end.  
  
“Heya Harry! It’s been a while since you sat over here.”  
  
“Hi Neville. Hi Hannah. Yeah, er, I’ve been trying to...get over past prejudices.”  
  
“Yeah, I figured it was something like that. Anyway, how’ve you been this week?”  
  
Harry recalled his reflection in the mirror, knowing he had dark bags under his eyes and hair that was even more ruffled than usual. “I’ve been okay. Teaching is harder than I thought.”  
  
Neville laughed, but Hannah looked sympathetic. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t realize how many first years in my House would come knocking in the night with some disaster or other. Though, it’s mostly homesickness.”  
  
He remembered, with a start, that she was Head of Hufflepuff now.  
  
“Have they been knocking on your door a lot? I heard from McGonagall that you’re Head of Gryffindor now.”  
  
“They-” Harry stopped and thought about it. “Actually, no. Not at all. I wonder if she told them yet?”  
  
Their eyes went wide.  
  
“I’ll definitely ask her when breakfast is over!” he rushed to say, feeling a bit like a horrible professor.  
  
“Anyway,” he transitioned, “you know how we were talking about Malfoy being poncey and the earmuffs the other day, yeah? Well it made me curious - have either of you ever heard of him dating anyone?” He kept his voice neutrally curious. “Women? Men?” Harry tried not to sound too hopeful at the second choice.  
  
Neville raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just ask him, mate? You two seem friendly these days.”  
  
Harry panicked. “I can’t. He’s...uptight about things like that. And it’s not a big deal. I was just seeing if you had heard anything.”  
  
“Hmm, can’t say I remember anything in particular. I think there was a rumor that him and Pansy were dating back in fourth year, but I don’t know if that was true or not.”  
  
“Right, but that was probably just because he took her to the dance,” Harry explained. “I mean, Parvati and I went to the dance, but we were never dating.” He sounded pretty desperate, even to his own ears, so he tried to calm down. “But he does act pretty poncey, don’t you think?” he couldn’t resist adding.  
  
Neville looked at him for a long moment. “I know I was joking around before, but Harry...you know, it’s okay for people to be gay, right?”  
  
_Fuck. Now they think I’m homophobic_. Harry ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to scream that that wasn’t what he meant, that he himself was bi, which was why he was asking.  
  
“I know that!” Harry said at last. “Obviously.”  
  
“Anyway,” Neville continued, “if he _was_ gay, it’d honestly make me feel a bit more sympathetic. Given his family and all that. Figure it’d explain a thing or two about how he acts.”  
  
Harry stopped to consider that for a moment.  
  
It was true - even in the fantastical world in which Malfoy was gay and liked him back, there was no way they could ever be together. The Malfoy family was one of the stiffest, tradition-obsessed pureblood families in the wizarding world. And Malfoy had always been so proud to be part of that family; there was no way he’d ever besmirch his lineage by dallying with _Harry_.  
  
“Harry, are you alright?” Hannah asked.  
  
He lifted his head and shook away the depressing thoughts. “Yeah, fine.” 

  


Harry arrived at his class early to prep, but really, he was just giving himself time to mentally prepare for seeing Malfoy. Since he had masturbated to him - and even more so since the sex dream - Harry felt weirdly exposed, like everyone could see his unprofessional thoughts. Most of all: Malfoy himself.  
  
But then again, he hadn’t been at breakfast - maybe he wouldn’t even show up. Then Harry would have to move _tomorrow’s_ lesson plan to _today_ and all hell would break loose in his planner.  
  
Sometimes he really hated being an adult.  
  
At quarter to one, he began pacing around the classroom, moving books and stray ingredients so as not to worry the students who came in early with his antics. At five of, he felt his blood pressure rising, but reminded himself there was still plenty of time. At one o’clock, he nervously announced to his class that they might have a visitor for that lesson, and he should be there any moment, really.  
  
Malfoy strolled in at five after with a grin on his face.  
  
Harry nearly cursed him where he stood for his leisurely pace and damned air of cheeriness. Then, he remembered it was a class on dueling, so he would have plenty of opportunity.  
  
The students chattered excitedly, and he was shocked once again to realize that Malfoy was actually fairly popular among the kids. Even though flight lessons were only for first years, he was also in charge of coaching the upcoming Quidditch season, and students were already consulting him on practice techniques while vying for spots on their House teams.  
  
Harry launched into his intro on dueling - better than Lockhart’s, at least - while stealing glances at Malfoy, who watched him with rapt, albeit amused, attention. There was something different about Malfoy’s appearance that he was trying to put his finger on as he narrated bowing customs and seconds. He looked strangely alluring, and Harry didn’t think it was just his newly discovered bisexuality weighing in.  
  
When they both drew their wands to get started, it clicked. Malfoy _had his sleeves rolled up_. There, on his left arm, bloomed the faded ink of his Dark Mark. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen him expose it before. After a whole year of following him, desperate to find a sign of Malfoy’s treachery, like this very Mark, it was startling to see it revealed so casually.  
  
But _why?_ Was Malfoy acting like a Death Eater to simplify their duel? But it was anything but “simple.” He’d seemed so upset last night at the mere implication that Harry chose him for that reason. Malfoy didn’t seem the sort to do things purposelessly - so what made him show the Mark now?  
  
The students were beginning to stare, so Harry continued.  
  
“First, we bow,” he said, dipping his head. For a horrible moment, Harry thought Malfoy wasn’t going to do it, but then he met Harry’s eyes and bowed back with a poised grace. It was so different than their first duel all those years ago.  
  
They straightened and raised their wands at each other. Malfoy had an easy smirk of confidence on his face, and in this current pose, he looked arousingly _dangerous_. It wasn’t the Dark Mark - Harry could have gone without that painful reminder - but the way his lean forearms stretched and flexed as he slipped into the dueling position made Harry shiver. And he had never seen him so informal with his clothes before.  
  
“And now, we fight,” Harry said, just above a whisper.  
  
They stood there a long minute, never breaking eye contact, until Harry panicked that he would have to start. Malfoy _always_ cast first, his whole life.  
  
Then, quick as a snake, the blonde struck. “_Expelliarmus!_”  
  
“_Protego!_” Harry deflected it easily.  
  
They circled each other for a few steps.  
  
“_Titillando!_”  
  
“_Salvio Hexia!_” Malfoy scoffed. “Come Potter, can’t you do better than a tickling charm?”  
  
“_Flipendo!_”  
  
Clearly unprepared for that one, Malfoy flipped through the air and collided with the wall. He sank to the ground with a crunch.  
  
Pushing himself to his feet, he wiped a trickle of blood away from where he’d bit his lip. He wore a daring grin. “Better. _Langlok!_”  
  
Harry felt his tongue fuse to the roof of his mouth. What a Slytherin move. _Fine; he would use nonverbal magic then_.  
  
But Malfoy was faster. “_Levicorpus!_”  
  
An invisible hand seemed to yank Harry up into the air by his foot. He dangled for a moment, focusing all his energy into an unspoken command. _Liberacorpus_.  
  
He tumbled to the ground, then scrambled back to his feet. _Expelliarmus!_ he tried.  
  
Matching Harry, Malfoy deflected wordlessly. He met Harry’s eyes with a smirk. “_Serpentsortia_.”  
  
In slow motion, a long, black snake shot from the end of his wand, and Harry couldn’t tell if he was seeing it happen now or in his memory of seven years ago. It hit the floor with a loud slap and began sliding towards him. Harry realized with panic that he couldn’t speak parseltongue with his mouth stuck - he didn’t even know if he could speak it at _all_ anymore.  
  
It slithered closer and closer, Harry caught in its gaze. In his periphery, he thought he saw Malfoy’s wand dip in aim.  
  
_Ebublio_, Harry thought, and a large bubble trapped the snake. Even as it happened, the sight hit him like a punch to the gut. It was sickenly similar to how Voldemort had kept Nagini near the end, how she had been as she ripped into Snape.  
  
He saw Malfoy’s eyes widen as well, and he knew he remembered as well as Harry did. He took on a haunted look, frozen with his wand still outstretched, eyes clouded with pain as the moment drew on and on.  
  
With a flick, Harry disarmed him and ended the charade. 

  


“Potter, what was _that?_” Malfoy asked, once all the students had left.  
  
Harry sighed, still facing the other direction. “What was what?”  
  
“You know what. Why’d you use the bubble jinx?”  
  
He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “It made sense in the moment. I don’t know.”  
  
Malfoy was silent.  
  
“Why’d you roll up your sleeves today?” Harry asked, before he lost his nerve.  
  
He heard a quick intake of breath behind him. “Why, what’s it to you?”  
  
“You never do that.”  
  
It was Malfoy’s turn to sigh. Harry could hear the tension in his voice when he responded. “Yeah, well, maybe there’s no point in pretending otherwise. I was a Death Eater. I can’t change it now.”  
  
“Would you?” Harry asked. “Would you change it if you could?”  
  
Malfoy stepped around and faced him, forcing Harry to look. His face was more open than Harry remembered seeing it, but it also had a stiffness to it, like he wasn’t used to being honest. Least of all with Harry. “There are many things I wish I could change. It doesn’t mean they actually could have happened any other way.”  
  
“And the Mark?”  
  
Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut, as if restraining himself from snapping. “Yes, Potter. I regret taking the Mark.”  
  
His eyes flashed open. “Does that make you happy to hear?”  
  
Strangely, it didn’t. Harry felt...well, complicated. But he wasn’t used to this kind of rawness in Malfoy’s voice. “Not ‘happy,’ I suppose...but relieved?”  
  
After a beat, Malfoy nodded, seeming to accept that answer.  
  
His expression seemed to close off then, molding back into his neutral mask. “Well, exciting class. Can’t say I’m impressed with your teaching methods, Potter.”  
  
“That’s ‘_Professor_ Potter,’ if you will,” Harry sassed back, allowing the seriousness to melt away. He was sure it irked Malfoy to no end that Harry had the ‘professor’ title, and he was only a ‘mister’ to his students.  
  
“You’re only ‘Professor’ in front of the class, Potter.”  
  
“Well, you forgot it while we were dueling,” he pointed out.  
  
“Oh, _I’m_ sorry,” Malfoy replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize you were analyzing my every word.”  
  
Harry felt blood rush to his face. He was - but he didn’t want the prat to know that.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Which brings me to another point-”  
  
He took a step forward, and Harry stumbled back, startled when his back hit the wall.  
  
“Why have you been acting _so bloody weird_ lately?”  
  
_Fuck_. He thought he had successfully avoided this conversation.  
  
Harry’s eyes darted for the door, but Malfoy noticed. He slammed his palms against the wall on either side of Harry’s shoulders, effectively pinning him to the spot.  
  
Harry tried really hard to avoid eye contact, as his mind replayed his dream on repeat. How Malfoy pinned him in place, just like this, then leaned in and snogged him senseless. Only his dream hadn’t anticipated Malfoy’s lean wrists and alluringly exposed forearms.  
  
_Fuck_, he was getting _aroused_.  
  
“Well, Potter?”  
  
Helplessly, he looked up and was caught in Malfoy’s intense gaze. _At least it might distract Malfoy from looking down_, he thought desperately. Impossibly, as their eyes met, he felt himself blush harder.  
  
Hell, he wanted to kiss him. But there were so many reasons he couldn’t. Ginny. Their past. Malfoy’s family. The fact that Malfoy would probably hex his balls off if he tried.  
  
The eye contact was slowly killing Harry, and had it gone on ten seconds longer, he might have cracked and confessed everything then and there just to relieve the tension.  
  
As it was, Malfoy read his gaze for an eternity and one more long moment, then pulled back without warning.  
  
“_Interesting_,” was all he said, before turning and walking out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo!  
I introduce: the first <strike>_kabedon_!</strike> duel!  
Yay!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed. As always, thanks for reading.
> 
> xoxo


	7. Collision

_Interesting?_ What was bloody _interesting_ about Harry acting like a cripplingly awkward blushing maiden? “Interesting” was when you found out something new yet relevant, like “being the chosen one doesn’t make you good at teaching.” “Interesting” was finding out that Dean and Seamus had been boning since sixth year and kept it under wraps despite sharing a dorm with him. The current situation wasn’t “interesting” - it was downright shameful. And worse, he still had no idea what Malfoy was thinking.  
  
But that didn’t stop him from replaying the scene in his mind hundreds of times.  
  
Malfoy’s voice had pitched lower into a sultry, curious tone that Harry could listen to for hours. His hair - still disheveled from their fight - had tumbled across his forehead as he slammed his palms against the wall on either side of Harry. And Merlin, those eyes. Intense, yet fathomless - they had nearly incinerated him.  
  
He had wanted so badly to touch Malfoy. And yet, the more he imagined it, the more abstract the concept seemed - had he _ever_ touched him? Beyond the time Malfoy had stomped his nose sixth year, he couldn’t remember making _actual, physical_ contact. It seemed bizarre - they had traded so many insults, been in such close proximity all these years, and yet Harry had no idea of the texture of his skin, the softness of his hair.  
  
_Was he warm to the touch?_  
  
Harry had only ever imagined him as cold - icy like his demeanor. Now, he wasn’t sure. Though they hadn’t touched, he could have sworn he’d felt body heat radiating from Malfoy as he leaned in close. But that also could have been from his own spiking temperature shorting his circuits.  
  
The bell rang in the dinner hour, and Harry was startled out of his delusions. _Fuck_, it’d been nearly an hour, and he was still in his classroom. He needed to get a grip.  
  
In the end, Harry opted to skip supper, as he wasn’t ready to face Malfoy again so soon. (Though, he desperately wanted to see him.) Any conversation they had would end in further disaster, and Harry was still resolved to keep his obsession a secret.  
  
However, he was starting to wonder whether that was even possible for him. 

  


The next day, his resolve had been broken. Harry woke with the burning need to see Malfoy - even if it ended in horrible awkwardness. After waking from yet another dream about him, Harry was finally ready to admit that yes, he _was_ obsessed after all. Their mealtime interactions weren’t enough for him anymore; he needed to find a way to see Malfoy outside of the Great Hall. He needed to pursue these strange feelings. And if the man declined - well, he could always follow him around like he had sixth year. That way, at least he could watch those long, slender legs in motion.  
  
He devised a plan. 

  


“Able to recover from our duel, Malfoy?”  
  
Malfoy’s lip quirked up in a smirk. Folding _The Daily Prophet_ and setting it aside, he turned to Harry. “What was there to recover from? I think your temporary silence during the match actually _added_ years to my life.”  
  
“Yes, well I wanted to thank you actually,” Harry said, loving the way Malfoy’s jaw dropped. “For giving me an excuse to demonstrate some nonverbal spells for my students. It’s never too early to start teaching the complicated, _skillful_ techniques.”  
  
“Did you just compliment yourself, Potter?” He glanced down at the dishes on the table theatrically. “And before breakfast too! That must be a new record, even for a gloating Gryffindor like you.”  
  
“No, I complimented _you_” - Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up even further - “for your impeccable timing for making me look good. In fact, I should just duel you every day, if I want my reputation to skyrocket. It gave me a good ego-boost about teaching, really.”  
  
Harry noticed a tic in Malfoy’s jaw as he comprehended this. “If you want a rematch, Potter, you should just come out and say it.”  
  
“Oh no! Of course not,” Harry breathed, “I’m perfectly content with my record for winning, so there’s no need for a repeat of the same events.”  
  
There it was - Malfoy’s jaw was definitely clenching now.  
  
“Oh, I don’t think it would go the same,” Malfoy hissed. “So don’t get too cocky.”  
  
Harry played clueless. “Well, I’m sure you’d try different spells and all, but I meant that it would _end_ the same. You know?”  
  
“No, I don’t ‘know’!” Malfoy ground out, slamming his fist on the table to punctuate his sentence. “That’s it. I challenge you to a duel, Potter. And you’d better not back out.”  
  
Harry smiled inwardly, but retained an indignant outward tone. “Alright, Malfoy. I’ll take you anytime, anywhere.”  
  
He noted, with pleasure, that his phrase sent twin dots of pink dancing upon Malfoy’s cheeks.  
  
Harry finished his cereal and stood to go prep for his first class. He almost laughed as he heard Malfoy’s chair screeching beside him as the blonde followed.  
  
“And I want a Quidditch rematch, while we’re at it!”  
  
_Even better_.  
  
“Fine,” he said, turning. “I guess I can find some time to give you a lesson or two in flying.”  
  
Harry watched with amusement as Malfoy’s hand flicked to his wand. But he would never dare hex him in the middle of the Great Hall.  
  
Malfoy stepped closer, tensed with rage, and his voice dropped to a guttural whisper. “Quidditch pitch. 10 pm. No audience.”  
  
Harry swallowed hard and nodded.

  


He thought about their rematch the rest of the day. Was Malfoy excited about it too - or just angry with him? He hoped it was the latter. After all, it was the only way he knew he would definitely catch Malfoy’s attention. Harry taught his classes with wandering focus and a half-hearted enthusiasm that inspired students to either pass notes or fall asleep at their desks.  
  
He noticed one student charming a paper airplane to glide over to his friend on the other side of the room, which only sent Harry spiraling into memories of the notes Malfoy used to send him in class. Naturally, they had all been rude drawings of Harry dying in traumatic ways. But still, some of that could have been interest in Harry - provocation to get his attention? Or was that just wishful thinking? He sighed. Malfoy was probably straight - he’d have to get used to that fact before he deluded himself too much.  
  
It didn’t stop him from swinging by Malfoy’s office midday to add some appointments to the “office hours” board though. He knew he was pushing it with how much he egged the man on, but he couldn’t help himself. If Harry was cursed to pine after him, even in dreams, then Malfoy could stand to suffer a little too. 

  


By the time nine o’clock rolled around, Harry was positively mad. He had gotten into his Quidditch gear in two minutes flat, realizing that he hadn’t really needed to allot an hour for that activity, but also acknowledging that he wouldn’t be able to get any work done while he waited.  
  
He counted brooms in the locker room.  
  
He counted lockers.  
  
He thought about shoving Malfoy up against a locker and kissing him.  
  
He counted knee pads.  
  
He imagined peeling gear and clothing from Malfoy’s lithe form.  
  
However, that particular idea was warming him a little too quickly, so he decided to fly some loops to cool down.  
  
At nine thirty, he was ready to scream, but then he noticed Malfoy rushing towards the pitch. All the accumulated thoughts of frustration and boredom seemed to vanish as he swooped down to meet him.  
  
As he neared, he noticed that Malfoy was still in his robes and clutching something in his hand as he strode angrily towards Harry. When he was only about twenty feet away, the blonde started yelling.  
  
“What the _bloody hell_ is this, Potter?” He waved a sheet of paper in the air.  
  
Harry landed smoothly in front of him, causing Malfoy to stagger to a halt, breaking his usual grace. Unintimidated, he shoved the paper in Harry’s face.  
  
Ah, the office hours sheet. So he had found it. Harry must have smirked, because he was suddenly dodging a jinx that would cause leeks to sprout from his ears.  
  
“You absolute git! You filled in the entire page with utter nonsense!” Malfoy snatched the sheet back to begin referencing. “Like here: ‘_September 18th. Lose to Harry Potter at Quidditch_.’ And here: “_September 19th. Lose to Harry Potter in a duel_.’ ‘_September 20th. Sulk moodily throughout the day from losing to Harry Potter-_’ First off, I do _not_ sulk!”  
  
He tore his glare from the paper and directed it at Harry before returning to read. “And what’s this? ‘_Help decorate the Great Hall with Gryffindor colors_’? I would rather _die_, I’ll have you know. And I particularly didn’t appreciate this.” Malfoy turned, holding the paper under Harry’s nose, fingers pointing towards October 31st, which said: “_dress as myself to a Halloween party, as my prattishness is truly terrifying_.”  
  
After a long moment, Malfoy sniffed, trying to partially compose himself. “You’ve filled in every day until Christmas with your bullshit! Now, I’ll have to make a _whole new calendar_ to post by my office.”  
  
“Why?” Harry laughed. “It’s not like you’re going to have anyone visiting your office. You didn’t even list any free hours.”  
  
“That’s besides the point!” Malfoy snapped.  
  
“You told me yourself that I needed to consult your office hours and make an appointment.” Harry fought to keep a straight face. “I made several.”  
  
Malfoy sucked in an angry breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did, like a long-suffering victim. “Unbelievable. You think this is _funny?_” His gaze hardened. “You want to play pranks? Fine. I’ll make you regret this, Potter.”  
  
He turned, robes snapping behind him as he stalked to the locker rooms to change. Harry watched him go, a shiver of anticipation singing in his veins. He had done his part - messed with Malfoy enough to insult his pride - and now the man would be obsessing over how to get him back. Harry would probably face even more humiliation and torment than before.  
  
That didn’t stop him from looking forward to it.  
  
Malfoy emerged about five minutes later, geared up and broom in hand, and Harry tried not to ogle him too much. After all, they were here to play Quidditch, not tempt Harry into making a fool out of himself.  
  
Malfoy came to a stop in front of him, adjusting a leather glove with a yank. Merlin, he had beautiful hands.  
  
“Alright, Potter. Fancy getting your arse kicked?” He drew the snitch from within his robes and tossed it into the air. It unfurled its wings, which soon thrummed and dissolved in the air.  
  
Malfoy mounted his broom. Harry knew he must’ve seen him do it a hundred times, but this time, the cool confidence of the maneuver made Harry’s knees weak. Was that what he would look like - throwing a leg over Harry’s lap, straddling him?  
  
Malfoy’s eyes snapped to his, and Harry looked away, hoping the darkness would mask his blush. He climbed onto his own broom.  
  
They took off with a kick. He raced straight up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the snitch from higher in the sky, though the night made it much more challenging. It had been so long since he last flew a night match, and for a moment of panic, he wondered whether or not he’d still be good at it. But as he rose higher and higher into the air, a familiar sense of calm washed over him, like it always did when he flew. It felt as natural as breathing. He remembered all at once that _this_ was what he was good at.  
  
And as much as he wanted Malfoy’s attention, he wasn’t going to let the git win.  
  
A swift movement to his left caused him to bolt in that direction. In his periphery, he saw Malfoy follow suit. Harry leaned into the wind, making himself as flat and aerodynamic as possible. Up ahead, he chased a glimmer of light.  
  
Then, the reflection dipped, and he was barreling towards the ground. Trees rose up in front of him, but this time, he didn’t stop at their border. He was so close to the snitch - maybe only ten feet behind it. If he stopped he would lose it; Harry zipped into the woods.  
  
He heard a shout from behind him, but ignored it as he concentrated on zigzagging between branches. The darkness was dense, and avoiding the twigs was impossible; he felt them scraping his face and hands as he dove and twisted. Despite his speed, he saw the snitch outpacing him, getting further and further away. He growled in frustration.  
  
This was stupid. Since he wasn’t getting any closer, he pulled up, bursting through the treetops with a shower of yellowing leaves.  
  
“You look bloody ridiculous,” Malfoy said, veering to a stop beside him. “I knew you were a twit, but I never realized you were thick-headed enough to bulldoze a forest with your face.”  
  
Harry wiped at the stinging on his cheeks, and his hand came away smudged with red. “Oh shut up, Malfoy. You’re just scared you’ll hit a tree and damage your pretty face.”  
  
“_‘Pretty,’_ am I?” He raised an eyebrow at Harry with a smirk.  
  
Harry reddened. Making a point to scan the treetops for the snitch - anywhere away from Malfoy’s gaze, really - Harry waited until the prat thankfully let the comment slide and continued.  
  
“I’m self-preserving. It keeps me from looking as wretched as you do right now.”  
  
That made Harry scowl. It wasn’t that he really cared what he looked like, but he was still a little embarrassed to be a mess in front of the impeccable blonde. Even though he was _always_ a mess. Before he could stop himself, he ran a hand through his hair, dislodging twigs and leaves, and Malfoy snorted in amusement.  
  
“That new hairstyle might even be an improvement over your regular one!” he quipped.  
  
They drifted along the pitch.  
  
As usual, Harry spotted the snitch first, (because he was actually _looking for it_, dammit). He shot to the left, anticipating that Malfoy would react and move as well.  
  
He didn’t; well, not in time. Harry collided with him, his shoulder catching Malfoy’s chin and collarbone, sending them spinning to the ground in a tangled heap.  
  
Thank Merlin they hadn’t been up too high.  
  
Adrenaline pumping through his body, Harry’s eyes shot open. Something was digging into his chest and hips, and as he looked down, he realized with horror that it was Malfoy’s Quidditch gear.  
  
Holy _fuck_, he was lying atop Draco Malfoy.  
  
He propelled himself onto his hands and knees, face peeling from the leather plates at Malfoy’s waist. His eyes ran slowly up to meet Malfoy’s - terrified of what he may find.  
  
But, just freed from Harry’s weight, the blonde was only just beginning to sit up and rub his head with a gloved hand. Malfoy’s eyes cracked open with a wince, then widened almost instantly.  
  
“Potter?”  
  
Harry held his breath, devouring Malfoy with his gaze. The man’s hair was once again deliciously mussed, spilling over his forehead with bits of grass and leaves in it. One corner of his lip was pink and swollen, where he must have bit it when they collided. And those eyes - still startled and grey and wide - were watching him with an intensity that was undoing his inhibitions.  
  
Harry wanted to kiss him. It would be so easy to - he just had to lean down another six inches to meet those perfect, full lips. Six inches separating him from his desperate addiction.  
  
“Potter, what are you doing?” Malfoy croaked, his voice barely a whisper.  
  
But it was enough to snap Harry back to reality.  
  
He _couldn’t_ kiss Malfoy. He _couldn’t_ let him know.  
  
He pulled back quickly, scrambling to his feet while running through excuses in his head. “Your lip is bleeding,” was all he could say.  
  
Malfoy pushed himself to his feet as well. “Yeah, well you fly like a bloody lunatic,” he replied, disdain siphoning back into his voice.  
  
Harry laughed, a little hysterical, and still jittery with adrenaline. He watched Malfoy dab at his lip with his thumb, then scowl at the tenderness of the bruise.  
  
Merlin, he still wanted to kiss him.  
  
“Do you want to continue? Or go to Madam Pomfrey’s?” Harry suggested nervously.  
  
“I’m fine,” he said, brushing some dirt off his gear. “No thanks to _you_. But perhaps we should call it a draw for the night.”  
  
Harry nodded vigorously. “Right. Yes. Sounds fine, I mean.”  
  
Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him. “I’ll have plenty of opportunity to beat you at _tomorrow’s duel_.”  
  
He was confused until he remembered the office hours schedule. Shit - was Malfoy taking it seriously? Fine, he’d have to follow through with his joke then. Not that he was complaining - it gave him another excuse to see the man, which had been his ultimate goal. Though, he was beginning to wonder if that was wise anymore. He had nearly kissed him tonight, after all.  
  
“We could always resurrect the dueling club,” Harry joked. “To give my students some more practice.”  
  
“Only if you come back and demonstrate more for my Quidditch class,” Malfoy replied, shocking Harry into momentary silence that he would even consider it.  
  
“Yeah, alright,” Harry said after a long moment. “I could do that.”  
  
“Good.” Malfoy pushed open the door to the locker rooms; Harry hadn’t even consciously noticed they were walking towards them. He held the door for Harry, waiting. “Well, aren’t you coming?”  
  
With dawning horror, Harry realized they both still had to change into their regular clothes.  
  
How was he supposed to strip down in front of Malfoy? Would Malfoy face the other direction? Or would he keep chatting and looking at him? Would he laugh? All options were mortifying.  
  
Malfoy was beginning to give him a strange look.  
  
“Uh, thanks,” Harry said, stepping through the door at last, and hearing his escape route click closed behind him. Panic hummed through his body, and he suddenly couldn’t remember how to change clothes naturally in a locker room. How had he done it all those years?  
  
He walked over to where he had left his pile of clothes on a bench. Malfoy walked a few feet further to his where his own clothes were neatly folded into precise squares. Harry stalled, glancing at the blonde through the corner of his eye.  
  
Malfoy reached down and began unclipping knee pads and slipping out of his shoes. Harry raced to kick his own shoes off, fumbling with the latches on the pads. When he had taken off all the outer gear, he instinctively glanced up at Malfoy, who was pulling his shirt over his head.  
  
Harry swallowed dryly as his eyes skated over Malfoy’s lean torso. He observed the curve of his ribcage, the soft point of his hip bone. Then Harry’s gaze caught on the thin chain around Malfoy’s neck; the pendant thunked lightly against his sternum as it disentangled from his shirt, and Harry felt a sudden flood of recognition. It was the Malfoy signet ring. He remembered his nemesis starting to wear it sixth year, but it had been on his finger then - it was curious that he now hid it away like this.  
  
Though, he supposed with everything their family had done and the news coverage following the war, perhaps it was not so curious after all.  
  
Harry looked away before Malfoy could notice his gaze, and angled himself away from the man before pulling off his own shirt. He prayed that the blonde wouldn’t notice his self-consciousness.  
  
He heard a scoff. _No such luck_.  
  
“What, Potter, are you a _girl?_”  
  
Harry turned to argue, but was dumbfounded into silence by seeing Malfoy in nothing but a pair of grey boxer-briefs. They were fitted, hugging his angles and curves, and left little to the imagination. He snapped his eyes up to meet Malfoy’s, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t noticed Harry’s gaze dip and linger, but knowing he absolutely must have.  
  
“Have a little shame!” Harry gritted out, face a veritable flamethrower of heat.  
  
Malfoy chuckled. “Why? Scared you like what you see, Potter?”  
  
“_No!_” Harry spluttered. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away as Malfoy pulled up his pleated trousers and snapped his belt on with swift, deft movements. Harry was almost drooling thinking of other things those capable hands could be doing.  
  
Forcing his gaze away, he turned around completely and jumped into his jeans in record time. When he turned back, Malfoy was just buttoning the last bit of his shirt and tucking it in with practiced movements. He looked like a fucking fashion model - how had Harry not noticed it when they were in school?  
  
“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Harry said.  
  
Malfoy, still grinning to himself about Harry’s embarrassment, glanced up as he slipped on his loafers. “Sure, Potter. Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dear readers! We're simmering right along, with Harry finally exploring some of his feelings. Still no kiss though.  
And yes, I did a random collision trope, SUE ME. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! See you next Tuesday.
> 
> xoxo


	8. A Case Study in Sleep Deprivation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: more sex dreams

Harry _did_ have sweet dreams - tormentingly so. In them, he took all the chances he hadn’t taken that day. When he was sprawled on top of Malfoy, this time he leaned down, pressing their lips together. Malfoy responded enthusiastically, pulling Harry in harder with a hand at the base of his neck.  
  
He only pulled away to rub at his swollen lip with a sheepish grimace. Harry leaned in then, peppering the bruise with feather-light kisses that made Malfoy smile appreciatively. They began snogging again, then all of a sudden, they were no longer in Quidditch gear. Harry’s fingers traced the smooth dip next to Malfoy’s hip bone, drifting across the top of his grey boxer-briefs. The fabric was soft and tantalizing against his fingers.  
  
He snapped the waistband, and Malfoy smirked against his lips.  
  
“What, Potter, like what you see?” 

  


He woke - all too suddenly - to a rapping at his door. He scrambled for his glasses, exhaustion fighting with panic at someone finding him with a hard on (rapidly retreating though it was). Harry knocked his glasses to the ground by accident, which only added to his frenzy. It was only when he had successfully shoved them onto his face that he thought to check the time. Three A.M.  
  
Who the _fuck_ wanted to talk with him at three A.M.?  
  
“Coming!” he yelled, throwing on his jeans (and a robe for good measure).  
  
He cracked open the door. To his utter surprise, his student, Mary, was standing outside.  
  
“Mary?” His voice was bleary and laden with confusion.  
  
“Hi, Professor… I, um, well I can’t sleep.”  
  
He stood there dumbly.  
  
“I...I miss my parents.”  
  
The hysterical urge to respond with “I miss mine too” bubbled up inside him, but at the last minute, he refrained. He was a teacher now. And, after a moment of disoriented consideration, he began to remember what Hannah had said about being Head of House; Minerva must have told the students to come to him with their issues.  
  
Mary was looking down at her slippers, and he realized all at once how young eleven was for many to be living away from home. Given his situation with the Dursleys, he had never had to experience such homesickness. Hogwarts was - and always would be - the one place he felt truly comfortable and safe.  
  
He sighed. “I suppose you should come in then,” he said.  
  
She nodded thankfully, and he went to put on some tea while she settled into an overstuffed maroon chair by the fireplace.  
  
“What’s your home like?” Harry asked, once the tea was ready. He sat in the chair across from her.  
  
She took a little sip before answering. “It’s...nice. Cozy. Mom makes pumpkin bread on the weekends around this time of year, and we all go to the harvest festival and drink lots of hot cider.”  
  
“That sounds nice.”  
  
“And Dad summons all the fallen leaves into a big pile for me and Bri to jump in.” She continued, sniffling a little.  
  
“Is Bri your sister?” Harry asked gently.  
  
She nodded.  
  
“Is she at Hogwarts too?”  
  
“No, she’s a year younger.” Mary wiped quickly at a tear that had escaped down her cheek.  
  
“I remember when I first started at Hogwarts, I was nervous that I wouldn’t fit in. But meeting other people in Gryffindor and becoming friends - that really made me feel better about being here. Have you talked much with the others in our House?”  
  
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve talked some with Frankie and Yolette, but...it’s not the same as being home.”  
  
“True. But these things take some time. I mean, it took several months before Hermione and I became good friends, but now I couldn’t imagine going through school and life without her. You have plenty of time still.”  
  
Mary smiled a little at that, surely familiar with the stories about Hermione’s heroics during the war. They chatted some more over tea until she had calmed enough to send back to the dorms. 

  


“Harry, you look like hell, mate. What happened?” Neville’s concerned voice broke through his delirious haze as he wandered to the breakfast table.  
  
“Students. _Students_ happened to me.” He slung himself into a chair next to Neville and only glanced up when he heard a familiar snort of amusement.  
  
“I think he’s talking about your Frankenstein face,” Malfoy sneered from next to Hannah.  
  
Harry blinked a few times in shock. “Why are _you_ sitting over here?”  
  
“We were chatting,” Hannah piped up.  
  
“Yeah, did you think I didn’t have better people to talk with in the mornings?”  
  
Harry bit back a comment about how if he did, why hadn’t he been talking to those other people for the past three weeks? But he would be civil in front of Neville and Hannah.  
  
“So what happened?” Neville prompted.  
  
“I...er...played some Quidditch last night.”  
  
“Yeah?” Neville asked brightly. “Against who?”  
  
Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was smirking into his plate. “No one of importance,” he remarked sourly.  
  
“Uh, alright. But what did you mean when you said students made you so tired? Did something else happen yesterday?”  
  
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Mary from the first years came to me at three A.M. all homesick. Then two _more_ students showed up after she left with their own issues.”  
  
He glanced up at Hannah. “You were right - being Head of House is hard.”  
  
She pondered that a moment. “Three students in one night? That _is_ a lot.”  
  
Harry sighed and nodded, noticing Malfoy smirking a little more broadly in his periphery.

  


His duel with Malfoy ended up being pushed back. Harry made the mistake of mentioning the dueling club idea to Minerva, when checking in about the Head of House information. She then insisted that they involve resident dueling champion, Professor Flitwick, in their planning. Flitwick then urged him to set up a club meeting a week from now and advertise it properly, as “dueling was a serious sport and should be taken seriously.”  
  
Harry was secretly relieved. After their late-night Quidditch match, and then the students showing up at odd hours, he was barely functioning enough to drag himself to class and assign a reading from the textbook - something he didn’t like doing after his year of Umbridge teaching the course. But this way, he’d at least have a chance to catch up on sleep before the rematch.  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
The next night, Harry was startled awake again at three, exhausted and _angry_ this time, and gave rather pitiful advice to a fourth year student who wanted to join the Quidditch team. Once more, he hoped the timing was a fluke.  
  
But by the fourth night of being woken up at odd hours, he was possessed with a crazed energy and desperate desire to make it stop.  
  
“Why always at three in the morning?” he whined. “Literally _any_ other time would be better...Also, it’s the _weekend!_”  
  
“But Professor - your office hours say three to seven A.M.! That’s why everyone’s been staying up late to talk with you.”  
  
“My _what?_” Harry blinked owlishly at the third year boy standing at his door. “_Office hours?_ What office hours? I haven’t put up any office hours.”  
  
The boy looked away nervously. “But sir, they’re right there.”  
  
Harry jostled him aside and looked where he was pointing. “No they’re not,” he snapped, but as he stared, the edges of a bulletin came into focus. Fuck. A disillusionment charm then.  
  
He dreaded where this was going.  
  
Harry snatched the paper from the wall, eyes skimming it ferociously as his student cowered. He had to hold the paper mere inches from his bloodshot eyes to get them to focus on the words. In slanted script - that looked startlingly like his own - it read: _Professor Potter’s Office Hours_. Below, it listed his class times and blocked off meal hours. Then, “_office hours, 3-7 A.M. I am quite the early bird - please don’t bother me between the hours of 6 P.M. to 2 A.M., as I will be asleep! Thanks._”  
  
He felt some floodgate for restraint breaking deep within the recesses of his mind.  
  
Harry scanned the next blocks on the sheet until he found the damning evidence he was looking for. “Mondays and Wednesdays: ‘_Flying Lessons from Mister Malfoy._’”  
  
While Harry was so utterly exhausted from the past few days that he comprehended admittedly little, one thing was certain. He was going to _kill_ Draco Malfoy. 

  


After his student left, he had fully intended to go back to sleep and deal with everything in the morning. However, he found himself so enraged by Malfoy’s prank that he couldn’t rest. How _dare_ Malfoy mess with his schedule like that? Harry’s pranks had only affected _him_ \- injured his pride a little. But this? It involved all of Gryffindor House, not to mention pushed Harry into an exhaustion that was beyond cruel.  
  
He shoved his feet into shoes - he was going to find Malfoy and give him a piece of his mind. But he didn’t know where the git’s room was, just his office.  
  
With a sudden stroke of genius, Harry ran to his trunk and rooted around until he pulled out the Marauder’s Map. He slapped it down onto his desk, nearly ripping it in his haste to unfold it. _Where was he?_  
  
As he scanned the halls and rooms for any sign of Malfoy’s name, he was hit with a sudden wave of deja vu. He really _had_ done this almost every night sixth year. It had been a ritual of sorts. Once his dorm mates had gone to bed, he would slide the map from the top of his trunk, cast a whispered _lumo_s to read by, and begin his watch. Oh, he had spent hours searching for Malfoy’s name, to the point that it seemed to pop out at him amongst other text when he saw it written.  
  
_There_. Harry felt a rush of excitement as his finger landed upon a room in the dungeons - not too far from the Slytherin common room or his office. He took off at a run.  
  
When he reached the room and knocked, he was mad enough about the bulletin to quash the slight nervousness that had swelled in him at disturbing Malfoy in his private chambers.  
  
No answer.  
  
He tried again, louder and more frantically this time.  
  
“_Who in Merlin’s name-_” Malfoy swung the door open and stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, Potter, it’s _you_.” The man wore a petulant scowl on his face as he ran a hand through his hair (which was sticking up at an ungroomed angle for once). He yawned widely before leaning against the doorframe with a sleepy grin. “I assume this means you got my note.”  
  
The casual deliverance irked Harry immensely. And worse - despite being furious - he couldn’t help but acknowledge how adorable a sleepy Malfoy was. He wore light blue silk pajamas that made him look both elegant and comfortable at the same time, and Harry’s gaze dipped to where a few of his shirt buttons were open at the top.  
  
The git had nice collarbones.  
  
“Yeah, I got it alright. _How dare you_ post that fake schedule for my students to see! They’ve been keeping me up all night for mostly trivial things that they could easily ask during the day. Moreover, you made me look like an idiot with all those ‘flight lessons,’ you absolute prat!”  
  
Malfoy closed his eyes and rubbed at his ear while Harry ranted. “Yes, yes. Are you done your little tantrum?”  
  
_The nerve!_ “No. No, I’m not. You had no right-”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes shot open. “I had every right. I warned you Potter - I said you’d regret it when you messed with my office hours.”  
  
“Those weren’t on the same level at all!”  
  
His lip quirked up. “It’s not my fault if your pranks are of lesser quality.” He rested his cheek against his arm, then blinked several times. “By the way, how’d you even find my room?”  
  
Harry blanked and blustered, his tired mind unable to come up with a decent excuse. Malfoy’s eyes were also distracting him. “None of your business, Malfoy!”  
  
But that only made him smirk wider. “Oh, feisty tonight, aren’t we?”  
  
Malfoy slid off the doorframe, stretching to his full height several inches above Harry. His grey eyes gleamed with predatory delight. “I have to ask - and you can be honest, Potter. Are you _stalking_ me?”  
  
Harry let the moment linger a beat too long before responding.  
  
“No! _Of course not_. Who’d want to follow a cocky arsehole like you?”  
  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow like he was unconvinced. “Are you sure? It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.”  
  
Harry felt his heart speed up. Oh no - did he know? Had he noticed what Harry himself hadn’t realized all those years ago?  
  
“Wh-what are you talking about?” he mumbled bravely.  
  
“Oh, you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about,” Malfoy replied, stabbing a finger into Harry’s chest. He felt like his whole body was combusting from that point outwards.  
  
“Sixth year, Potter. Chasing me around, _staring_ at me through meals, following me into the bathroom for Merlin’s sake! I could barely find a bloody moment alone.”  
  
Harry was shocked into mortified silence. This couldn’t be happening. It was everything he never wanted Malfoy to realize he had done. The man had never mentioned it before - despite his love of gloating - so Harry had assumed he had been too preoccupied that year to notice.  
  
In his worst nightmares, he wouldn’t have imagined such an embarrassing situation as this.  
  
“I...I-”  
  
He couldn’t think of anything to say. So he simply stood there, red with shame and entrapped in Malfoy’s gaze.  
  
The blonde smirked softly. “What, you thought you were being _coy_ about it?”  
  
Hermione’s words drifted through his mind: “_Harry...well, you aren’t exactly_ subtle.”  
  
Harry’s blood ran cold. So - what? Malfoy knew all this time that he had been obsessing over him, so the git was going to hold it over his head? Did he want Harry to apologize? Or grovel? Or leave him alone?  
  
He looked away, eyes burning.  
  
“What do you want, Malfoy?” It came out as a whisper.  
  
“What?” He scrunched his perfect brow. “What do you mean, ‘_what do I want_’?”  
  
Harry pulled away. “Never mind. Goodnight.”  
  
He whirled around, suddenly needing to be far away from this conversation.  
  
“Potter, wait!” he heard behind him, but he didn’t stop. 

  


Harry sped back to his room, unused to the pain now blooming in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, thanks for returning for Chapter 8! This week, it's all pranks, pranks, pranks - and a wee bit of Harry actually doing his job. 
> 
> Sorry to leave you in a semi-stressful ending, but I'll be back next Tuesday with chapter 9!
> 
> xoxo


	9. Broken Wizard, Broken Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: some depressive episodes

Harry slogged through the next week with the least amount of social interaction he could incur. He took all his meals in his room, allowing the trays to pile up instead of summoning a house elf to retrieve them. In his free time, he caught up on sleep (he was finally able to after putting up a new and revised office hours sheet) and prepped notes for class. He avoided his friends. Most of all though, he avoided Malfoy.  
  
He had been so stupid to cling to his crush on the man, desperately holding out hope that Malfoy might feel the same. But in the end, Malfoy was Malfoy - he hadn’t changed who he was after all. He was still Slytherin, still manipulative, still power-hungry.  
  
Clearly, he still loved to gloat - and the information he had on Harry truly was humiliating.  
  
As the week went on, Harry immersed himself in defensive magic techniques in order to forget this fact. He was still putting off his talk with Ginny - especially since she hadn’t Flooed _him_ since their fight - because he couldn’t motivate himself to discuss the catalyst for this realization either. So he let time passively slide by, knowing that each day he didn’t say something was only compounding the eventual horribleness of that discussion.  
  
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t block out the craziness of the past week. This had all started after he sat with Malfoy at breakfast in order to get him to stop the pranks, and somehow everything following that event had gotten out of control. They had fought - in Quidditch and dueling - but they had also had several moments of openness and pleasant conversation as well; it was something Harry had never expected could even happen.  
  
But that only made it hurt more when Malfoy revealed that, essentially, he had known Harry’s secret all this time and was laughing at him behind his back.  
  
Malfoy had tried to talk to him several times since then, but Harry had shut each one of them down. He had even stopped by Harry’s office yesterday, which led to a terse, confused exchange in which Malfoy “wanted to know what was wrong suddenly” when the git clearly knew what he had been doing all this time.  
  
And, unfortunately, despite not talking with Malfoy, Harry still had to facilitate his first dueling club meeting with Flitwick tonight. He showed up late - not a good look, he admitted, though he couldn’t bring himself to care - and Flitwick pursed his lips in mild disappointment. And that honestly set the mood for how the rest of the meeting proceeded.  
  
Flitwick crushed him so easily in a demonstration duel, it was laughable. Harry couldn’t decide whether he was just tired, secretly bad at dueling - beating Voldemort somehow being a fluke - or just distracted; he kept looking at the door every few moments to see if Malfoy would show up.  
  
He didn’t. And Harry told himself he was relieved. This way, he wasn’t forced to avoid him in front of an audience. 

  


The following week was much the same, with Harry imposing isolation and misery upon himself in order to get over his disappointment with Malfoy - or at least repress it to a reasonable, socially acceptable degree. His classes went fine - though the social circles had settled by now, and he had a pretty good idea of who fully intended to never turn in their homework until the bitter end of June. Dueling club was alright. Flitwick disarmed him easily enough this week as well; his heart just wasn’t in it.  
  
Perhaps it was not the fighting that he liked, so much his usual opponent.  
  
When the first week of October came, however, the pranks began once more. Harry had just been getting to the point where he could think about Malfoy again without feeling like he’d been punched in the gut, and then the prat stepped back into his life to torment him. It wasn’t fair.  
  
He had been teaching the third years about vampires, when an odd sort of scratching began to sound from within the old wardrobe that typically held the boggart. This was odd, as the wardrobe had been empty - namely, _boggart-less_ \- for several weeks now, and it had remained locked since that discovery.  
  
Feeling a bit unnerved, Harry had at first ignored the sound. However, as the class went on, the scratching became louder and louder, until one brave student raised her hand and asked if ‘Professor Potter sir might please open it and end the terrible suspense.’  
  
His class seemed to think he was putting them on in order to celebrate the beginning of October, but Harry didn’t want to admit he genuinely had no idea what he would find.  
  
He raised his wand, hesitant, to the lock. “_Alohamora!_”  
  
For a second, nothing happened.  
  
Then, a wall of bats burst from the wardrobe, knocking him back onto the ground. He stared in wonder as the students shrieked and dove under desks.  
  
“_Vampire_ bats!” one girl screamed. “They’re going to transform and eat us!”  
  
Harry, who had made no mention of vampires taking the form of bats during his lesson whatsoever, gave her an incredulous look in the middle of the chaos.  
  
“Calm down, everyone!” he said when he recovered his voice. “They’re not going to hurt you! They’re just bats.”  
  
“Oh yeah, just the ones that _drink blood_,” said Brett (who was still salty that Harry had ditched him in the hospital wing).  
  
“Please! Everyone!” Harry’s voice was lost in a sea of noise.

  


He stumbled back into his room that night after spending long hours coaxing kids to calm down and mitigating complaints to Minerva. _Fucking hell, Malfoy_. Couldn’t the man leave him be?  
  
Harry had thrown his robes onto the floor for the day, when he thought to connect the Floo and see if Hermione had any answers regarding his grindylow research. Sure enough, as soon as he opened the connection, his friend’s face popped into the fireplace.  
  
But it wasn’t Hermione. “Ron? What’s going on?”  
  
“Harry,” he said. “Thank Merlin. I couldn’t contact you earlier, but you’ve got to talk to Gin. She’s going bloody mental over at the Burrow about you, and you better get over there right now!”  
  
Harry grimaced.  
  
“What’s going on with you mate?” Ron continued, furrowing his brow. “She says she hasn’t heard from you in ages. I feel like _I_ haven’t heard from you in ages.”  
  
“I...It’s complicated. I haven’t been talking much to anyone these past few weeks.”  
  
“That’s why I’m worried, Harry. It’d be one thing if you’re busy hanging with Neville or Hannah or someone, but they both say they’ve barely even seen you at meals lately. Are you eating?”  
  
Harry laughed softly. Of course Ron would be worried about food. “Yeah, I’m just eating in my room. Don’t worry, mate. I’ll get over all this soon.” He paused. “And I suppose I’ll work things out with Ginny as well. I’ll Floo her right now.”  
  
Ron nodded. “Probably for the best. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
With a grimace, Harry stepped into the Floo and called out “the Burrow!” 

  


“_Harry James Potter!_” came an immediate accusation. “Look who finally decided to show up!”  
  
Fuck. She was already volcanic.  
  
“Gin - I’ve been meaning to talk with you-”  
  
“Oh really? Could’ve fooled me!” She threw a ladle at his head, which he barely dodged in time. Behind her, George was holding a handful of kitchen knives and other heavier utensils out of her reach. “Because last I checked, you hadn’t spoken a word to me in nearly two weeks!”  
  
Had it been that long? That sounded much worse than he remembered.  
  
“Gin, I’m sorry! I really meant to talk, it’s just been busy and-”  
  
“Busy? You know what was ‘_busy_’? When I went professional and joined the Holyhead Harpies! But I still _always_ made time for you.”  
  
Harry cringed. “You’re right, Gin. I know. I’m sorry. That’s why I want to talk and make it up to you.”  
  
Ginny stared at him for a long minute, eyes running up and down his scruffy appearance. Whatever she found must have been pitiful, because she seemed to deflate a bit, and she put down the spatula she had picked up to throw. “Fine.”  
  
She brushed past him, clearly expecting him to follow. They reached her room, and she burst through the door without bothering to see if he followed. He shut the old door behind him with a squeak.  
  
“Start talking,” she said.  
  
Harry gulped. This was the moment he had been dreading, and now that it was here, the words suddenly seemed even more impossible to say. “Well...er…” He straightened his jumper. “I mean, the thing is-”  
  
After several more of his false starts, she said, “Get on with it, Harry.”  
  
He felt a flash of annoyance cut through the guilt. “This is hard to say, you know.”  
  
“Well just _say it_.” Her mouth was set in a hard line, but he could see the emotion trembling in her brown eyes.  
  
“I’m bisexual.”  
  
He let the word hang in the air for a long time before looking up at her. Ginny’s expression hadn’t changed.  
  
“I like men,” he said, trying to extract an emotion - _any_ sort of emotion from her. “Too. In addition to liking women, I mean. Obviously, I like women, since I like you and stuff.”  
  
She took in a deep breath. “So… you’re breaking up with me because you’re bisexual?”  
  
“What? No! I’m not breaking up with you.”  
  
Ginny looked away then, face stony. “Oh. So you’re making _me_ break up with _you_.”  
  
Harry moved next to her and brushed some hair out of her face. She allowed the tender movement, but made no attempt to return it. With a pang, he realized she was wearing a Quidditch shirt he had gotten her when they first started dating.  
  
“Why do we have to break up? Because I’m bisexual?” The hurt was evident in his voice. “That’s not exactly related.”  
  
“Isn’t it obvious?” She looked him in the eyes. He had always loved her eyes, and the way they conveyed such clear emotions; but now, they conveyed only grief. “Because you found someone who sparked this realization about yourself.” Her mouth quivered. “And that person wasn’t me.”  
  
Harry felt his heart breaking.  
  
“Ginny, I-...I didn’t mean for this to happen. I can forget about it! Or try. If that would make you happy, we could-”  
  
“It wouldn’t,” she said flatly. “Why would you repressing how you feel make me happy, Harry? Do I seem that monstrous to you?” She met his gaze again with wild eyes. “Of course I don’t want that.”  
  
“Then what _do_ you want?”  
  
She sighed. “I just want to...understand. Why _now?_ You’ve been so closed off from the world these past two years. And after we spent all that time trying to help you - after I tried getting you to do things with me again - and now you’ve suddenly had all sorts of self-discoveries as soon as you’re away. Why _now?_”  
  
He paused for a long moment. “I just realized it wasn’t working, the way I was doing things.”  
  
“So that includes being with me? Have you been miserable the whole time we’ve been together?”  
  
“Of course not, Gin! I...I love you.” He looked down at her.  
  
“I love you too.” Her gaze met his. “But that’s not the same thing as being happy.”  
  
“I-” he hesitated, torn between truth and kindness. “I...haven’t been very happy these past few years. But you aren’t the one making me unhappy.”  
  
The anger seemed to drain from Ginny, and she smiled sadly. “But I’m also not making you happy either.” It wasn’t a question.  
  
A single tear fell down her cheek, before she quickly swiped it away.  
  
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’ll _be_ okay. We’ve always been honest with each other, so I’ll be honest with you now as well. I feel like this has been coming on for a while now, so while it hurts, it’s not overly surprising. I just didn’t want it to be true. But I also know that watching you at a low point for so long and being unable to help you has been hard for me. So if you’re doing better now that you’re on your own...then I’m happy for you. Or I will be.”  
  
Tears were now running openly down her face, and he felt a rawness in the back of his throat that he couldn’t swallow away. She took his face in her hands.  
  
“I want you to be happy, Harry. That’s all I ever wanted.”  
  
He wiped a tear from his eye before it could escape. “I want you to be happy too.”  
  
She smiled, though it was pained. Slowly, she drew her hands away. It felt so final, and he was inundated with all the memories he’d had with Ginny. These were the hands that had held him as he sobbed after the war, hands that had caressed him in the throes of passion, hands that had handed him a mug of tea in the mornings and lingered for a moment upon his.  
  
“Well then,” she said, “I guess this is goodbye. Not forever. But just to the way things were.”  
  
He nodded. And then he gave her one last hug - a hug in which they both clung a bit too tightly and a bit too long, but then parted without a word. 

  


Harry’s was in a daze for the rest of the week. His self-loathing stint had turned into a shocked stupor, and he found himself staring at the walls and thinking of nothing whenever he was alone.  
  
When he _did_ think, it wasn’t pleasant. He marvelled at how much he had taken Ginny and the whole Weasley family for granted as _his_ family - their home, _his_ home. When he had come back to Hogwarts last month, he had viewed it as a brief vacation from “real life” in a familiar place. A temporary job. But now, his world had shifted, and his reliable place at the Burrow had disappeared; he was left clinging to his yet-undefined role at Hogwarts and the still-foreign routine of teaching within.  
  
Any stable concept of his present - and future - had been pulled out from under him.

  


Ron and Hermione had visited him twice since the breakup, but he had still been too discombobulated to really talk with them deeply. He hadn’t come out to Ron, but he sort of suspected that Hermione had told him, since Harry was in no state do it himself. That was fine. Everything was fine.  
  
Everything was distant. 

  


Midway through the following week, Harry was eating dinner in his room while grading a quiz he hadn’t remembered giving. He had lifted the lid on his tray and made to fork some spaghetti, when he noticed it wriggling away from the utensil. Doing a double-take, he analyzed the platter with detached interest.  
  
They were _live snakes_. Little yellow corn snakes.  
  
That broke through his haze. Harry jumped out of his seat, upending the tray by accident, which sent serpents skittering across his cluttered table and onto the floor. He heard a series of thumps and hisses, and drew back against the wall. Within moments, though, they had vanished - transfigured back into scattered noodles like a bad hallucination.  
  
He spelled away the mess and sat heavily on the arm of his chair.  
  
Fine. _If Malfoy didn’t want him to eat, then he wouldn’t_. 

  


Two days later.  
  
He hadn’t meant to, but somehow he had missed his last class of the afternoon. Harry had been staring at the wall again, wondering at the way the water damage and dirt had eventually made it seem a tapestry of twisted images. He could have sworn he saw a dementor swirling through the gray and dirty white.  
  
When a sharp knocking started at his door, he knew before he opened it that it was Minerva.  
  
“_Harry_,” she gasped. “What’s happened to you?”  
  
Having not looked in a mirror at all this week, he was genuinely curious about what she saw.  
  
“Nothing much,” he said. But at her disbelieving look, he felt compelled to add, “Ginny and I broke up.”  
  
Her face molded into sympathy then, and she rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Harry. Would you like to talk about it?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“Well, I suppose this is why you haven’t been eating? Mister Malfoy informed me of that when I asked if anyone knew why you didn’t show up for class today.”  
  
“Did ‘Mister Malfoy’ also tell you he transfigured my spaghetti into snakes?”  
  
She blinked hard and recoiled. “He...failed to mention anything of the sort. Would you like me to speak with him about it?”  
  
Harry thought about it for a moment. He shook his head.  
  
“Alright then. Well, is there anything I can do to help? I can imagine that it’s a very hard time for you...but I’m afraid you can’t just cancel your class indefinitely.” She fidgeted with her thumbs. “Also, Filius told me that you haven’t, erm, been ‘pulling your weight’ shall we say with the dueling club of late either.”  
  
Harry sighed deeply. “I don’t suppose I can quit the club?”  
  
Minerva considered it for a moment. “It’s not up to me. You’re an adult now, and those types of decisions are yours to make. Though, I will say that there are many who will be disappointed if you do quit. Furthermore, I think keeping busy at times like these can do marvels with helping one cope.”  
  
Harry stared past her into the hallway. “I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled half-heartedly. “I’ll go to the meeting tomorrow.”  
  
“Right. Good.” Minerva turned to go, but fixed him with one last stare, her eyes challenging. “Oh, and Potter - I’m sending up a plate of food. Uncursed. I fully expect you to eat it.”

  


By the time dueling club rolled around the next day, Harry had at least attempted to clean himself up a little - both physically and emotionally. He had eaten and showered after Minerva left, and after the latter, he had even braved the mirror. It was surprising - he hadn’t looked _that_ different, he thought. Though, he supposed the deadness behind his eyes was a new accompaniment.  
  
When he entered the dueling classroom - a forgotten hall in the dungeons - Flitwick had looked rather startled to see him. “Harry. I see you’ve, err, joined us today.”  
  
“Indeed,” he said drily. “I was...busy last time.”  
  
The students began filing in - a decent size group, though he noticed the numbers had dipped a little since the previous meeting. Perhaps Minerva was right, and he was already disappointing the lot of them.  
  
When he saw that Harry wasn’t going to introduce the meeting, Flitwick gave a few pointers on wand movements before opening it up to volunteers. He was about to select a pair to demonstrate _expelliarmus_ again, when the classroom door creaked open.  
  
“Mister Malfoy,” stated Flickwick, clearly perplexed at his appearance. “Can we help you with something?”  
  
The man slid into the room and stalked over to face them. It had been so long since Harry had seen him that his beauty was like a slap in the face. He was all tousled blonde hair and jutting chin, and Harry’s chest constricted as he realized that - _dammit_ \- he _wasn’t_ over him yet after all.  
  
He came to a stop in front of Flitwick. “This is the dueling club, correct?” His voice was low and quiet, and he sounded _pissed_. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m here to duel.”  
  
Harry sucked in a sharp breath, not ready for the intense gaze that suddenly shifted towards him. Malfoy’s eyes were flinty.  
  
“With Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooh!! Because we all know what this story needed:  
More Tension. 
> 
> Anyway, on a more serious note, it was important to me that Ginny didn't get demonized in this story, as I feel she often does to simplify the plot of drarry fics. She is a badass character, and though she is not the romantic interest here, I wanted to do right by her and show her range of toughness and emotional vulnerability. I think it's also important for Harry to take responsibility for his feelings here, so he's able to move forward into a more emotionally mature human being. Hopefully that all comes through! 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and see you next Tuesday! 
> 
> xoxo


	10. Another Kind of War

Leave it to a Slytherin to have him all figured out. Harry hadn’t wanted to talk to him, so Malfoy had cornered him the one place he knew Harry wouldn’t run away - _in public_. He wanted to scream.  
  
“Err, with Professor Potter, you say?” Flitwick parroted back, shooting a nervous glance at Harry. “Are you, um, feeling up to it then?”  
  
Harry looked from Flitwick to Malfoy’s angry gaze. He could just say no. But another part of him knew that when Malfoy extended a challenge, he really _couldn’t_ say no - not actually. It was like he was physically incapable. And the frustration rushing through him now was more emotion than he had felt all week; it felt maddening, but strangely cathartic as well.  
  
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll take you.”  
  
Malfoy’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “Good,” he spat. “We never got our rematch.”  
  
What right did _Malfoy_ have to be angry? If anyone had the right, after all the pranks and shitty events of late, it was Harry. He drew his wand.  
  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry’s shallow bow (that was really more of a nod in his general direction). Then, he sneered and nodded back in a similarly disrespectful manner. Harry could almost feel Flitwick’s disapproval emanating from the space behind him. _Bugger it_.  
  
Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry, and he wondered how many times he had seen this exact sight: that hawthorn wand leveled at his chest, the way Malfoy stood with his right foot forward and shoulders angled back, the glint of those cold grey eyes. How many times had he felt this flare of excitement that somehow spiked through the pain and loathing? They had been standing in similar positions all those years ago when Malfoy had offered him not a wand but a hand, and Harry had refused. How much different would his life be if he had accepted?  
  
But then again, perhaps not at all. He felt that some people - like him and Malfoy - were destined to spend life pacing tempestuous circles around each other. Never cooling, never stopping.  
  
He closed his eyes briefly, allowing the sight to set into his memory. Harry promised himself that when he opened them again, he would stop dwelling - stop _thinking_ \- just fight.  
  
“Scared, Potter?” The nearby whisper caused his eyes to snap open. Malfoy was still sneering, but there seemed to be an underlying hint of genuine humor in his voice as well.  
  
And with a flare of his old self, Harry muttered back, “You wish.”  
  
“_Expelliarmus!_”  
  
Harry dodged it easily, but Malfoy’s grin didn’t waver. After all, it was a formality, really, starting with a disarming spell.  
  
“_Petrificus totalus!_”  
  
He deflected.  
  
“_Slugulus eructo!_”  
  
Dodged.  
  
“Come on, Potter! _Fight me_.” Malfoy’s tone was oddly desperate.  
  
“_Locomotor wibbly!_”  
  
Malfoy dodged. The furrowed brow had melted back into his signature smirk, almost faster than he could notice.  
  
“Really? The jelly-legs jinx?” He sidestepped Harry’s disarming spell. “Surely you can do better.”  
  
Maybe it was the exhaustion, but something in that jibe cracked Harry’s self-restraint. Or maybe it was having to look so much at Malfoy’s face. The git was so handsome, so wicked, and so _unattainable_. Harry felt his emotional barriers breaking down and an unfamiliar wave of energy possessing him.  
  
Quills burst from the desk near Harry in a spurt of accidental magic. He acted on instinct, “_Oppugno!_”  
  
The quills flew at Malfoy like darts. The blonde threw up a shield charm in surprise, but Harry watched as several quills still sunk into his leg. It wasn’t enough. He was suddenly enraged, drunk on the frustration and pain and sorrow of the past few weeks. It rose up in his throat like bile, and the sight of Malfoy - so beautiful, so _confusing_ \- was one emotion too many. They overwhelmed him, choking him.  
  
If he couldn’t have Malfoy, he wanted to hurt him.  
  
“_Colloshoo!_” he cast, and Malfoy struggled as his feet now stuck fast to the ground.  
  
Harry took a step closer, liking the way Malfoy jerked his feet, eyes wide, trying to move. Like a bug pinned to a board. It was how he had felt that night outside Malfoy’s room; it was how he felt under the man’s gaze now. Trapped, helpless, pitiful. He needed to erase these feelings. By destroying Malfoy, he might just force them out. If he could just get close enough-  
  
“_Titillando!_” Flitwick’s voice cut in.  
  
They both wore twin expressions of shock as uncontrollable laughter ripped through their bodies. Harry felt the tension in him inflate and crack, bursting into erratic giggles and dissipating like air from a balloon.  
  
He stumbled to the ground, clutching a stitch in his side as he laughed and laughed and laughed. Anger morphing to confusion to uncritical release.  
  
“And...that’s how a duel goes...er, for the most part,” Flitwick cut in. “Good example, you two. Next time, we’ll stick to disarming _only_, of course.” He trailed off, glaring daggers at them, then smiling with false joviality at the club.  
  
Harry was beginning to panic. His throat felt raw from cackling; he writhed on the ground, unable to stop. Malfoy was in a similar state, having fallen to his knees and was curled forward holding his stomach. His face was red from the exertion, and that detail made Harry’s weirdly aggressive thoughts melt away. He had almost been close enough - to what? What had he been planning to do? Would he have really hurt Malfoy? Despite his frustration - and humiliation at what had transpired between them - looking at the man in front of him, he realized he definitely didn’t want to hurt him.  
  
“Please-” he gasped between guffaws, looking up. “Please sir-...the charm-”  
  
Flitwick looked down his nose at them, flopping across the floor while holding their sides. He was sure they looked as uncomfortable as they felt. “Fine. _Salvio hexia_. But you two _adults_ better behave!” he hissed in a low voice. He quickly assigned dueling partners to the club members and began conducting a more “traditional” meeting without their chaotic leadership.  
  
Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was now gasping, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t think he’d ever heard the man laugh like that in earnest, and it made his heart twinge. Did Malfoy even know how to _relax?_ Though, Harry admitted, he wasn’t currently a great example for it either.  
  
“Satisfied...with our...rematch?” he huffed.  
  
Malfoy glanced up at him in panting disarray, which Harry desperately tried to repress as it happened. Otherwise, he’d make an even bigger fool of himself.  
  
Malfoy quirked a brow and snorted. “When it comes to beating you, I’m never satisfied.” His eyes seemed to cut through Harry’s soul.  
  
The words went right to Harry’s crotch, and he pawed at his robes under the guise of “straightening up.” He coughed, looking away. “Yes, well, I think that’s enough dueling for one day. And enough laughing.”  
  
Malfoy just smirked as if this hadn’t ended in a draw and, instead, he had come out as victor. And, depending on what game he was playing, perhaps he had.  
  
Maybe it was the relief of tension after laughing so hard, but Harry felt strangely light. He wanted to lean over and kiss Malfoy right here and now, even though he knew it was impossible. Flitwick would freak. So would the students. And Malfoy himself-  
  
Harry didn’t stop to consider that reaction, accompanied, as it would be, with his own crushing disappointment. Ahh, but it didn’t stop him from pining after those full, pink lips.  
  
He must have been staring, because the smirk faded from Malfoy’s face, and his expression suddenly looked more open, a little vulnerable like it had after their last duel. “Potter-” he started.  
  
“I should go,” Harry said, standing. He brushed off his knees and looked pointedly away from the blonde. Something about that look frightened him. Malfoy was never serious with him; a look like that could only lead to bad news. Something breaking.  
  
“Potter, wait!”  
  
And for once, he didn’t look back. He knew that if he did, it would make it that much harder to walk away.

  


“Students! I have an important announcement regarding this year’s Halloween celebrations.” Minerva’s voice rang through the Great Hall.  
  
“Oh, I’ve been waiting for her to announce this!” Neville whispered excitedly to Harry.  
  
Harry could only manage a stiff nod. Having woken up from yet another sex dream about Draco _bloody_ Malfoy - despite his resolution to forget the man - he was especially weary and on edge this morning.  
  
“As part of our new tradition to hold a themed ball during the school year-”  
  
“When did we start that?” Harry whispered to Neville.  
  
“After the war, mate. They thought it would help people lighten up and have fun again. Had one the past two years,” Neville replied in a low voice.  
  
They turned back to Minerva’s speech. “...so therefore, we will be hosting a Halloween ball this year, with a decorating competition between the Houses the week before leading up to the main event. I hope that everyone will be able to enjoy this with _minimal hijinks_.” She glared down her nose at the crowd of students. “We’ll have a vote for who wins the contest the night of the ball. In the meantime, talk with your Heads of Houses about decorating strategies, as they’ll help you spearhead the efforts.”  
  
Slughorn cleared his throat softly from behind her.  
  
She turned, seeming to remember something. “Ah, that’s right. Professor Slughorn has opted out of this year’s decorating challenge, so as such, Mister Malfoy will be guiding the Slytherins.”  
  
Harry groaned. Not only was he suddenly getting heaped with extra work - but he’d also be unable to avoid Malfoy. The git was undoubtedly preening right now too - though, Harry refused to look.  
  
He wanted to lock himself in his room until winter holidays.  
  
“I wonder why Slughorn opted out,” Hannah said.  
  
Neville shot her an amused grin. “I heard a rumor that he never attends Halloween parties or events, because he’s too scared. Won’t even open his door that night.”  
  
“But Slytherins generally love scaring others!” Harry said, intrigued.  
  
“Yeah, well, they also know all the things _they_ would do to scare someone, so they don’t want it done to them first. They don’t like the straightforward scares, you know? The emotionally manipulative scares are the ones they’re after.” Neville smiled again. “Regardless, it should be a fun event.”  
  
“Hmph, well if you think it’s fun, you should take my place,” Harry grumbled. An idea struck him suddenly. “Wait, why didn’t Minerva make _you_ Head of Gryffindor?”  
  
Neville smiled shyly. “Well, she did ask. I turned it down though.”  
  
“Why - because even _you_ can see it’s awful?”  
  
He laughed. “No, because Hannah’s already a Head of House. I figured if we were both dealing with Head of House stuff all the time, we’d never see each other.” He caught her eye and smiled sappily at her.  
  
Harry looked away, irritated. Not everyone was happily married like them.  
  
He found his eyes drawn down the table to where Malfoy sat, unable to stop himself. The blonde was between Slughorn and Vector, though neither seemed to speak with him. A sliver of guilt shot through him, as he realized that Malfoy really didn’t talk with the other professors; when Harry didn’t sit with him, he sat alone.  
  
And yet, despite that, Harry couldn’t pity him. His manner and posture and _very being_ refused to allow people to pity him. Malfoy’s back was straight, his hands tensed with cutting tonight’s roast in prim, efficient strokes. Even his indifference seemed to radiate a certain regalness. Harry watched him lift bite after bite to his perfectly pouting lips.  
  
He had never thought that eating could look so erotic before.  
  
Seeming to sense the direction - and intensity - of Harry’s thoughts, Malfoy glanced up the table at him. His eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed.  
  
Harry froze like a deer in the headlights. Would he still be mad about yesterday?  
  
But Malfoy’s lip quirked up on one side. Then, with painstaking deliberation, he speared a carrot on his fork and drew it slowly to his lips. Harry watched as he swirled his tongue over its length once before gently drawing it from the fork with his teeth.  
  
Harry couldn’t breathe. He felt his face glowing like a stoplight while his body practically vibrated from a quickened heartbeat.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes fluttered shut while he licked his lips and chewed slowly, langorously.  
  
Harry was confused, embarrassed, and aroused all at once, and though he tried to look away, he couldn’t _think_ while Malfoy kept making those expressions of sheer pleasure.  
  
_Did Malfoy know what he was doing to him?_  
  
He _had_ to know. Surely, he was mocking him.  
  
And how was he getting away with this overtly sexual display in the open - _in the fucking Great Hall?!_ When he had gathered enough willpower to look away, Harry whipped his head furiously from side to side to survey the room, but no one else seemed to have noticed.  
  
His eyes flew back to Malfoy, who was crunching the carrot normally now, but with a knowing grin.  
  
Harry was livid. What did Malfoy _want_ from him?  
  
“Hey, mate, you alright?” Neville asked. “You look a little warm.”  
  
Harry snapped his gaze away. “Fine,” he said. 

  


The decorating committee was a handful, as he imagined. He met that night with all the Gryffindors, who were bursting with excitement about the Halloween ball and decorating to come. As he settled in his favorite chair in the common room, students bombarded him with ideas.  
  
“So we get to decorate our whole tower, right? Let’s make it bat-themed!”  
  
“Yeah, we’ve got the bat-whisperer here!”  
  
After the initial fuss of the cabinet incident had died down, Harry’s students had started to call him that. He grimaced.  
  
“Or we could do something _actually scary_,” a third year girl said.  
  
“Well what’s ‘actually scary’ then? We can’t do ghosts - they’re already all over the castle. Hardly anything new.”  
  
“What about ghouls? We could borrow some!”  
  
“No. No ghouls,” Harry spoke up. The idea gave him a headache.  
  
“If only there was something scary to everyone!” one boy pouted.  
  
Harry pondered that for a moment. “Something that scares everyone? Well, there’s always boggarts.” He said it offhandedly, but the sudden quiet made him look up. The possibilities were swirling in the students’ eyes, so Harry rushed to say, “Too bad we haven’t got one!”  
  
“We’ll catch one this week!”  
  
“Yeah, that’s the perfect idea. That’ll show Slytherin! It can’t get scarier than your worst fear.”  
  
Harry didn’t have the heart to tell them that he had faced far scarier things than dementors after his third year. He was also sure that, with Malfoy leading them, Slytherin was bound to come up with something creative and awful to get back at them. 

  


As the week progressed, Harry overheard snippets of plans from the other Houses, but nothing that struck him as particularly clever or worth worrying about. His students would tell him whatever rumors they heard, and then, Harry - who had actually gotten into the spirit of the competition after all (and really wanted to beat Malfoy) - went as far as telling them to report any and all news at their nightly Gryffindor meetings. This, of course, led to a full-out espionage mission in their minds, and several got detentions for sneaking around after hours seeking gossip.  
  
As far as Harry had heard, Hufflepuff was planning some mild “pumpkin and bat decorations” and holiday snacks - no surprise there; Ravenclaw was plastering its walls with lines from Edgar Allen Poe - a famed wizard who strayed too far into the world of muggle publishing; and yet, he had heard startlingly little about Slytherin. Even Malfoy himself had been distant, clearly busy with whatever malevolent plans he went about making in his free time. Harry told himself it was relieving, really - not seeing him as frequently. Gave his poor heart a break.  
  
Neville had been tending to a particularly nasty crop of Devil’s Snare for them to decorate Gryffindor with as well. The idea was that they could line the hall with it for eerie effect, but leave enough candles out that it wouldn’t fully strangle anyone. At least, Neville had promised it wouldn’t. Minerva, while not keen on the idea, had acquiesced under the condition that they had a solid safety procedure and someone chaperoning their exhibit throughout the night of the ball.  
  
Excitement was building throughout the school, and Harry couldn’t help but be swept up in it. After reflection, he realized that maybe Hogwarts had been the best place he could have ended up after all, since it had a...well, _magical_ way of bringing everyone together. On his own, he definitely wouldn’t have been putting out jack-o-lanterns or spelling black and orange streamers into the rafters and eating pumpkin pasties. He certainly hadn’t joined in on any of that at the Burrow these past couple of years.  
  
School was a sort of microcosm of life - just by being here, he was drawn into the routines, drama, and jokes of the students and staff in a way that was unlike any other job. He was starting to appreciate that Minerva had pulled him back here after all.

  


When the day of the ball finally arrived, Harry found himself at Ron and Hermione’s new place, freaking out.  
  
“But Hermione - I don’t know what to _wear!_ I need your help.” He leaned against a stack of books that began to wobble, and he jumped to rebalance the pile.  
  
“Oh Harry. It’s a ball, isn’t it? Just put on some dress robes.” Hermione bustled into the room, shooting him a glare as the top two books toppled off the stack, despite his ministrations.  
  
“No, no, no - you don’t get it. It’s a _Halloween_ ball. The signs say something ridiculous like “spooky formal” or something! I don’t know what that means. How does _anyone_ know what that means?”  
  
His thoughts traitorously went to Malfoy, who was probably well-versed enough in party invitations _and_ formalwear to know exactly what that meant. In fact, the man probably had hundreds of formal outfits, all ready, with a comfortable fifteen he could alter for a “spooky” theme.  
  
_Damn it all_, he needed to stop thinking about Malfoy.  
  
“Why don’t you just wear a zombie glamor or something?” Ron chimed in. He strolled into the sitting room, bringing tea and grinning. “You’re being a bit melodramatic, mate.”  
  
Harry barely restrained his groan of frustration. He didn’t want to look _ugly_ tonight. Even if Malfoy was a right foul git who was definitely straight and not interested in him, Harry didn’t want to look _bad_ in front of him. It was the principle of the thing.  
  
Hermione gave him a knowing look. “How about a vampire or something?” she suggested innocently. “That’s a simple, spooky costume.”  
  
The second Ron stepped out of the room to grab cups and saucers, she added: “Vampires stories have often been written as metaphors for homosexuality.”  
  
“Wh-what? How is that-...” His panicked mind searched for any kind of appropriate response. “Well, it’s _bi_sexuality,” he hissed eventually, embarrassed. As if that made a difference. Of course, Ron chose that exact moment to walk back in.  
  
“What about ‘bisexuality?’”  
  
Harry glanced up at his clueless expression with alarm. _Fuck_. Maybe Hermione hadn’t told him after all.  
  
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just that, erm, Hermione’s been reading a book about it.” At her narrowed eyes, he continued, “And, of course, about other things too. I mean, identities - am I right? So many out there.” He took a forcibly cheery bite of a biscuit to cover his floundering.  
  
“...Right,” Ron said, looking at him strangely. “Harry, you know-”  
  
But Harry cut him off. “Hermione!” he exclaimed, not ready for the ball, but especially not ready for that conversation with Ron.  
  
“What spell would be best to transfigure some fangs?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.  
Hey.  
Hey.  
It's almost Halloween!!!!!  
Hope y'all are just as excited as I am. Let me know if you have a rad costume planned. Me and my roommates (read: gay commune) are going to be 80s gym rats with all the gaudy, sweatbanded glory. Fanny packs for all!
> 
> ALSO, funny story: So I let my partner read my chapters as I write them, and after reading this chapter, he started sensually eating pieces of his dinner in front of me AND MY OTHER ROOMMATE WHO HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS GOING ON.  
Naturally, I was just as mortified as Harry in that situation. #Friends don't let friends fellate food!
> 
> xoxo


	11. The Ball on Hallow's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Happy Halloween!!!!  
I couldn't _not_ post the Halloween chapter on Halloween, so you're welcome.
> 
> ALSO - a second announcement: I have written a Harry Potter oneshot for Halloween as well called "One Last Case"; it's an AU where Voldemort nonsense ended after first year, so the Golden Trio become a Scooby-Doo-ish mystery-solving crew! Check it out if that sounds mildly interesting to you! :)
> 
> t/w: panic attack caused by PTSD; mild horror

Harry ended up in a rather tight-fitting green vest and silvery-gray trousers that Hermione insisted looked good on him. She had transfigured one of his nicer suits, claiming that the green “brought out his eyes” - though, Ron snarked that her idea of “looking good” must be “a damned Slytherin,” based on the color scheme. But Ron also had no clue of whose attention Harry was trying to attract.  
  
It would definitely make an impression. He stared into the mirror, poking at his elongated canines and hoping they wouldn’t keep stabbing his lips all night like they had twice already. Hermione had also made him ditch his glasses, doing a temporary eye improvement spell that “he honestly should just get done permanently.” He let it happen but was a little put out by that; he liked his glasses.  
  
The final result was unexpected to say the least. He looked..._good_. Or at least decent, which meant better than he had in weeks. Hermione had also cast several charms on his hair to get it to lay more flat - spells that she had learned for her own unruly locks in fourth year. The man staring back at him in the mirror looked swarthy and confident, just from having nice clothes that fit.  
  
_That must be Malfoy’s secret_, he realized. _It’s all because he’s rich enough to have a nice wardrobe. The_ only _reason_.  
  
“I s’pose it looks alright,” Ron said when Harry was done preening. “A bit poncy, and much too Slytherin for _my_ taste, but…” he shot Hermione a cutting look which she duly ignored. “I still think a zombie would be more fun.”  
  
“Oh, let him do what he wants, Ronald!” She smacked his arm with a scowl. “No one’s asked you.”  
  
He shrugged with a grin. “Wow, but it has been a while since I’ve seen you all dressed up though. Probably since Bill and Fleur’s wedding! Before...well, before _they_ came, we had a lot of fun. Me and Mione, you and Gin-”  
  
He cut off with a stricken look when he noticed Harry’s expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”  
  
“It’s okay, Ron. Really.”  
  
It definitely wasn’t okay. But that wasn’t Ron’s fault.  
  
“I should head out now though, you know? So I’m not late to chaperone our decorating contest.”  
  
They said their goodbyes, and Harry Flooed back to Hogwarts, which was alight with pre-dance chaos. Students were already waiting for him in his office.  
  
“Sir, sir! We’re ready for you to do the barrier charm now!”  
  
“Okay, okay - I’m coming.”  
  
“Hurry!” they insisted.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled and let himself be led to the Gryffindor tower. Once the proper enchantments were up, he opened the chest with the boggart in it, allowing it to rush at him until it reached the barrier. It bounced off the invisible wall with a calamitous flash. Well, it seemed to be working.  
  
He turned and walked away before he could process the shape it took.

Harry was in charge of chaperoning their exhibit for the first half of the night, so he got to see some of the initial reactions to their hard work. The first visitor, of course, was some cocky third year from Slytherin who stalked in, sneering at the plants. Harry was tempted to nox the hall for a few minutes to see if he thought Devil’s Snare was dumb then, but he as a teacher, he knew he couldn’t do stuff like that anymore. He would have to work harder to put his hijinx behind him.  
  
The boy stepped into the common room - the main site for their exhibit - and spooked as a dozen bats shrieked and flew past him into the hall. (They had been hanging around the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom the past couple weeks, so Harry thought he might as well employ them to be useful.) He walked further into the room, steps a bit more hesitant as his eyes surveyed the walls and furniture for more traps.  
  
_Scritch_. A claw darted out from behind the sofa. The boy froze. Harry watched from his concealed hiding spot as the boy’s face paled. The claw pushed off of the couch, revealing a terrible, toothy grin as, inch by inch, the long snout came into view.  
  
Hot drool dripped on the fabric.  
  
The boy stumbled back suddenly, tripping over the coffee table in his rush to get away. The boggart lunged, springing over the couch entirely and sprinting on all fours. The boy was screaming now, sprawled on the ground, covering his face with his arm until he realized that nothing was attacking him. He looked up.  
  
The boggart/werewolf - which Harry thought was a bit fucked up as a greatest fear; though, he supposed he understood after meeting Greyback - was scratching against the invisible barrier several feet from the boy. He watched as relief painted itself across the student’s face, and his tense body sagged a bit.  
  
Harry threw off his invisibility cloak and stepped in front of him.  
  
“Ah!!” the boy shrieked, scooting back another few inches. “Merlin, what’s _wrong_ with you?”  
  
After a beat, it seemed to register that this was one of his professors, and his eyes grew wide as quaffles at having yelled at him. The fact that Harry was also dressed as a vampire seemed to confuse him even more. “I mean-... You-”  
  
Harry just laughed. “It’s okay. All in the spirit of Halloween.” He helped the boy to his feet. “That’s the end of our ‘haunted house’ of sorts - thanks for visiting. Tell your friends!”  
  
And so it went for the next half hour or so, students showing up alone or in small groups and facing the boggart with fear until they realized it couldn’t get them. After about forty-five minutes, some of the Gryffindors started returning and running up to Harry with news.  
  
“Professor! You’ve got to see Hufflepuff’s jack-o-lantern choir! And try some of those pies!”  
  
“Professor - wait until you see Ravenclaw tower! There’s these shadows on the walls that slither around and whisper eerie stories as you go up the stairs!”  
  
“Professor, professor! Those dirty, cheating Slytherins! They _knew_. We’ve got to get back at them.”  
  
The last one caught his attention. “What did they ‘know?’”  
  
Brett huffed. “You just have to go see. It’s _awful_.”  
  
“Well, I can’t go until Neville comes and trades places. Have any of you even gotten to the ball yet?”  
  
“Dancing is for sissies,” Brett said, rolling his eyes.  
  
Violet frowned at that. “I was going to head there now.”  
  
“Dancing is not just for ‘sissies,’” Harry admonished.  
  
“I should hope not!” Neville said, walking into the common room. “I’ve just been dancing for the better part of an hour!” He tapped his dress shoes in a clever step.  
  
“Heya Neville. Come to switch?” Harry cast a _tempus_ charm. “It’s still a bit early yet if you want to dance longer.”  
  
“That’s alright, Harry!” he said. “I’m sure you’re eager to check it all out. Go on!”  
  
“Thanks.” Harry smiled, leaving him the cloak and agreeing to walk down to the ball with Violet.  
  
When they arrived, Harry’s eyes immediately scanned the room for a familiar platinum-blonde head. He frowned when he didn’t see it among the crowd, despite himself.  
  
“Wooooah! Look at all those skeletons!” Violet gasped in wonder.  
  
Harry hadn’t even noticed the decorations, but now, looking around again, he didn’t know how that was possible. A veritable orchestra of skeletons was playing instruments and tap-dancing on the stage, while jack-o-lanterns floated merrily above them with candles glowing inside. The school ghosts were swooping through the hall in all their finery - Nearly Headless Nick flapping his head around and laughing when first years startled away.  
  
Decorations weren’t the only festive touch though - everyone was dressed up in spooky finery. Some boys seemed to have spelled their suits and robes to look ancient and covered in cobwebs, while a few girls had fishnet stockings with patterns that morphed and crawled. Some had ghoulish makeup, others looked fancy - altogether, a nice mixture.  
  
_Ah, so_ this _is ‘spooky formal,’_ Harry thought, glancing at a red necktie that was spelled to ooze like blood.  
  
He caught sight of a cat wearing an oversized witch’s hat and walked over to her perch on a pumpkin. “Fine party, Minerva.”  
  
She meowed, then hopped delicately to the floor and transformed.  
  
“Yes, well, it took a lot of work. But thank you, Harry.”  
  
He glanced around the room again.  
  
“If you’re looking for Mister Malfoy, then I believe he is still running Slytherin’s event.”  
  
“Malfoy? Why would I, uh, be looking for Malfoy?” Harry asked hurriedly.  
  
She smiled placidly. “Why, indeed?”  
  
He fought the blush spreading across his face. “I’m going to get some punch.”  
  
“Oh, by the way-” she said, making him glance back. “You look rather dashing tonight.”  
  
“Thanks, Minerva.” He knew full well that her eyes were tracking him as he made his way across the room, slipping out the side door instead of towards the buffet. His feet carried him down to the dungeons.  
  
As he rounded the corner to the Slytherin common room, he found Malfoy.  
  
His breath caught.

  
  
Malfoy was lounging in a chair stationed outside the door. He wore an old-style tux that fitted perfectly to his long, slender form; coattails draped underneath him and dipped to touch the floor.  
  
He glanced up and smirked when he saw Harry. _Merlin, he was wearing an orange bowtie_.  
  
“Well, well, look who finally got up the courage to come by.”  
  
Harry was speechless for a moment, before he realized that he usually responded to barbs like that. “Yeah, well, unlike you, I had to work.”  
  
It was a bad comeback, made worse by Malfoy raising an arched eyebrow and gesturing to himself and the corridor. “So...what I’m doing now?”  
  
Harry huffed and crossed his arms.  
  
“Hey, Potter - my students told me an interesting rumor.” His eyes slid up and down Harry. “They said you copied my costume.”  
  
Harry startled. “I- what? No, I didn’t!”  
  
But now that Malfoy was grinning wickedly at him, he could see the glint of fangs.  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
“I didn’t _copy_ you, that’s ridiculous!” he blustered.  
  
“It’s okay, Potter. I know you’re embarrassed - after all, ‘mimicry is the first form of flattery.’” Malfoy’s gaze shifted from his eyes to his lips, and Harry thought he was going to pass out. “But I think, in this case, the original does it better, don’t you think?”  
  
He smirked and gestured towards his own lip, swiping twice at the corner with his thumb. Harry rubbed at his lip in response, realizing that he was bleeding again from the stupid fangs. _Damn, Malfoy was making fun of him_.  
  
“Yeah, well...I probably chose this costume before you!” he spat. It was a weak argument, but Harry was just babbling at this point. Anything to prolong this moment - to get Malfoy to keep looking at him and speaking in that silky tenor voice.  
  
“Unlikely,” the blonde said, raking a hand through his hair luxuriously. “I chose this two days ago. When’d _you_ choose? An hour ago?”  
  
“...Maybe,” Harry gritted out. It had been more like thirty minutes ago. “Well, _why’d_ you choose it then?”  
  
Hermione’s words flashed through his mind, unbidden: _“Vampires stories have often been written as metaphors for homosexuality.”_ But there was no way Malfoy knew that. _Harry_ hadn’t known that when he suggested it.  
  
Malfoy smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” was all he said. The tips of his fangs jutted out, and Harry was sure the man liked how predatory it made him look. He’d probably practiced in front of the mirror, just so he could mess with him.  
  
“Not really,” Harry snapped. “Anyway, aren’t you going to show me your dumb haunted house or whatever?”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes flashed at the challenge, though his grin didn’t waver. He unfolded himself from the chair, sliding smoothly to his feet. “Alright, Potter. Impatient as ever. But remember - you asked for it.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Like it’s actually going to be scary.”  
  
Malfoy paused with his hand on the doorknob. He glanced back at Harry, his eyebrows raised and an unfathomable look on his face. Then, with a twist, he pushed it open to darkness, and stepped aside. “After you.”  
  
With a sudden sense of foreboding, Harry went inside. He was surprised when he turned and saw Malfoy click the door closed behind them. “Wait - you’re coming too?”  
  
“I like to watch the reactions,” Malfoy said, his face barely visible in the gloom. “Yours will be especially good, I’m sure.”  
  
Harry frowned and walked into the room. Malfoy was definitely up to something. It didn’t help that he looked so devilishly handsome tonight, that Harry didn’t care that this was definitely all an elaborate trap.  
  
His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out the rough stone walls and severe, carved furniture. He didn’t see any obvious path he was supposed to take, so he simply started walking through the room. When he got to the opposite side, there was a stone stairway twisting downwards.  
  
“Here?” he asked Malfoy.  
  
The man only shrugged, hands comfortably folded into his pockets. He looked far too relaxed, which only increased Harry’s paranoia. He placed his foot gently on the first stair. When nothing happened, he sighed and stepped down again.  
  
Shrieking filled the corridor. Harry jumped as wet, rotting hands darted around the corner and grabbed onto his leg. He struggled, trying to kick them off, losing his footing and tumbling down the stairs as he scrambled for his wand.  
  
“_Relashio!_”  
  
The hand released, and with a frantic _lumos_, Harry got a good look at them.  
  
_Fucking ghouls_. They clustered on the stairs, ignoring him now that he brandished his wand threateningly. Where Harry had drawn the line with tricks, Slytherin clearly hadn’t.  
  
Malfoy cackled behind him. “Your scream!” he said between laughs. “Who knew _The Great Savior’s_ voice could get so high!”  
  
From his vantage point on the ground, Harry was tempted to trip him.  
  
Shockingly, as his laughter died down, Malfoy offered him a hand. “Come on Potter, there’s more to see.”  
  
Harry hesitated for a split second, wondering if this too was a trick. After all, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d actually touched Malfoy before - where Malfoy had _allowed_ himself to be touched. But as the amusement on the blonde’s face began to flicker out, Harry instinctively grabbed the proffered hand and pulled himself up.  
  
It was a warm, firm grasp, and Harry realized as felt it that he wasn’t surprised. Somewhere over the past few weeks, he had stopped viewing the man as “cold.” The heat in his gaze belied the years he had defined Malfoy as such things as “icy” - how had ever seen anything but the smoldering intensity in those grey, grey eyes?  
  
He realized he should probably step away. The hand-up had left him mere inches from the man, and for some reason - _maybe pride?_ \- Malfoy was not moving away. Harry felt a dangerous urge to straighten that orange bowtie that floated in front of him, attached to the pale, delicate throat that he was refusing to focus on.  
  
Was it the costume? He wanted to sink his teeth into it.  
  
It had to be the costume.  
  
Drawing a quick breath, he stepped back abruptly, not caring that it was another step down, a step that made him even shorter than Malfoy. “Thanks,” he murmured. For once, he was glad for the dark.  
  
“No problem,” Malfoy said in a strangely civil tone. Where he usually would take the chance to humiliate Harry further, this time, he remained silent - eyes following him in the half-light.  
  
Harry turned and continued down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he glanced wearily into the dark dungeon corridor ahead. “Cheery place to build a dorm above,” he muttered.  
  
Malfoy snorted behind him. “We can’t all have nice things like the ever-favored Gryffindor.”  
  
“We’re not _favored_,” Harry argued.  
  
That made Malfoy bark out a short, sharp laugh. “Oh, so there’s _many_ things you’re oblivious about. Good to know.”  
  
Harry scowled. What was _that_ supposed to mean?  
  
He exited the stairwell, shying from the open cells on either side of the ward. They gaped, dark and horrible, like mouths caught in dying screams.  
  
Something was definitely going to jump out of one of them.  
  
Harry flicked his head back and forth, looking for any type of movement in the darkness; he no longer tried to hide his tight grip on his wand and held it out in front of him. The corridor stretched out far ahead, and he counted down its length in short, tight strides. Every cell that nothing came out of only multiplied his paranoia.  
  
There was definitely _something_ in this corridor - otherwise they wouldn’t have taken him here.  
  
As they reached the last set of cells, he heard Malfoy’s steps stop behind him.  
  
“What? What is it?” Harry flipped around, wand raised.  
  
Malfoy looked shaken. “Here- it was supposed to be here…” His face was pale.  
  
“What was here?” Harry demanded.  
  
But Malfoy seemed dazed, confusion warring with fear on his face.  
  
“What was supposed to be here, Malfoy?”  
  
“The-the others! They were waiting here, all ready to jump out and scare people who came through!”  
  
“What? How many people?” Harry spun in a circle, looking at all the cells over again in panic. “How many- Wait.”  
  
He saw a flash of shadow in one of the cells ten feet off. “_Homenum revelio!_”  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Which meant it wasn’t human.  
  
Harry took a step towards the cell, adrenaline pumping loud in his veins. “_Lumos maxima!_”  
  
Light flooded into the corridor, revealing enough of the cell to highlight a solitary figure, head sagging towards the ground. For a moment, it didn’t move, and Harry thought it might be a prop. Then, it stepped forward into the ward.  
  
Horror dawned on him, as he recognized the tousled black hair and glasses. The head tipped back to reveal a face.  
  
It was _him_. It was Harry.  
  
“The boggart must have escaped Gryffindor tower!” He heard Malfoy scrambling backwards.  
  
But he was frozen in place. Unable to look away as the other Harry drew closer and opened his eyes. They glowed red, pupils sliding into serpentine slits. He smiled - but it was not Harry’s smile. Not a normal smile. His lips drew grotesquely back, his face falling into the same expression as the one possessing it.  
  
_Voldemort_.  
  
He heard a thunk behind him. Startled, he ripped his gaze away and turned, stopping dead at the sight before him.  
  
Malfoy. Sprawled across the ground, covered in blood.  
  
Harry felt his chest constrict. Then the dull pain blooming in his knees as he fell to the ground next to Malfoy - he hadn’t even realized he had started moving in that direction until he was already there. He scrabbled for his wand on the cold stone ground, seeing he had dropped it in his haste.  
  
“Malfoy! Malfoy - can you hear me? _Draco_-” He pressed his hand uselessly into the blood on the man’s chest. Blood bubbled up between his fingers, and he fought back a panicked sob. “Draco, what happened?”  
  
Harry heard footsteps and realized that the boggart was still there, still advancing towards him. “_Riddikulus!_” he cast, without a thought. The figure morphed, twisting into a Harry with google-eyes, and with the force of the spell, vanished back into the cell without a trace.  
  
“Draco, talk to me!” The floor was suddenly looking tiled and slick, like that bathroom all those years ago. “_Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur_,” he muttered again and again, like a prayer. He hadn’t even known he remembered the spell Snape had used. The one that had knit Draco back together the last time. After _sectumsempra_.  
  
His shirt remained soaked and red.  
  
“Draco, please,” Harry choked out, sick with fear and guilt and worry. “Please, not again.”  
  
He felt Draco shudder beneath him, and then hands were touching his where he clung to fistfuls of the man’s shirt.  
  
“Potter - _it’s alright_. It’s okay.”  
  
Harry was hyperventilating.  
  
“It was just part of the prank! _You’re_ okay. Hey, look at me. _I’m_ okay.”  
  
He heard the voice as if through a haze. But he was stuck in the memory.  
  
Slick floors. Pale skin. Red blood.  
  
His fault.  
  
“_Harry, it’s okay._”  
  
He gasped, finally looking up and meeting Draco’s eyes. They were wide and full of worry.  
  
“But-but the blood! It won’t stop.” He lifted a hand and looked at the red staining it - dripping from it.  
  
“It’s fake! Look, I’ll get rid of it.” Draco lifted his wand with a shaky hand and spelled it away. “See, all gone.”  
  
Harry prodded stupidly at the now-clean white shirt. “But the wounds…”  
  
“Harry, you’re having a panic attack.”  
  
“I’m...what?” The words didn’t register. All he knew was the guilt, so he latched onto that. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“‘Sorry’ - what are you talking about?”  
  
He heard a frustrated sigh, and then he was being pulled to his feet, his hands still curled into fists of Draco’s shirt.  
  
“_Bloody hell_. Here, let’s get you out of the dungeons.”  
  
Harry felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, and then he was being gently pulled forward. Down the corridor. Up the steps. Through the common room. Out the door. It wasn’t until they reached an empty classroom that he felt himself pulled to a stop. Everything was in slow motion.  
  
“Breathe, Harry. Breathe.”  
  
He felt Draco’s hands push lightly on his shoulders, and he sat without resistance on the desk behind him. Draco sunk into a crouch in front of him, as Harry’s hands still held fast to his clothes.  
  
“Look at me.” The voice was commanding, but soft.  
  
In the back of his mind, Harry knew he should let go; in fact, he wondered why Draco hadn’t pushed him off yet. His eyes searched the room for enemies, not even sure he could identify what that constituted at the moment.  
  
“_Harry_.”  
  
Something must be seriously wrong if Draco was using his first name. He didn’t think he had ever heard it from him before. It felt heavy and meaningful, though he couldn’t distinguish why. He reflexively pushed at the bridge of his nose where his glasses normally would be, then realized he wasn’t wearing them. That made him feel even more abstracted.  
  
He finally made eye contact with Draco again, surprised by the frantic energy possessing the man. His hands hovered by Harry’s shoulders like he wanted to hold onto him but was hesitating for some reason. Something about the vulnerability, not only on his face, but in his whole disposition at the moment, made Harry break down.  
  
He tugged Draco closer and let his head fall against his collarbone. That seemed to end Draco’s hesitation, as Harry felt hands slide around his shoulders and rub at his neck as he clung to him, dry sobs now wracking his body.  
  
They sat like that for what felt like hours, but Harry reasoned was probably only several minutes until he felt his breathing slow and even. Warmth was slowly returning to his fingertips and feet, where he hadn’t even realized the blood had drained from. It had all rushed to his core to fuel his thundering heart.  
  
But as his sense of equilibrium was returning, so too was his shame. He suddenly realized how awkward this must be for Malfoy. The man didn’t even _like_ him - why would he let Harry _cry_ on him?  
  
The man in question must have felt him tense, because he asked, “Feeling better?”  
  
Harry’s cheeks burned. How stupid was he to burden Malfoy with his emotional problems? He had never lost it like this before. Not even around Ginny. “Yeah, a bit,” he mumbled. “What happened?”  
  
Malfoy drew back a bit to look at him, and Harry quickly released his hold on the shirt that was now crumpled in permanent wrinkles.  
  
“It...it was just supposed to be a prank,” Malfoy said at last, biting at his lip and looking away. A small bead of blood formed where his fang punctured it. “We had a second boggart - the one from the cabinet. I hadn’t really released it, just stored it somewhere else, you know. So when some Slytherins heard you guys were using a boggart, we came up with this plan where it would seem like it had escaped and everything had gone wrong, because the ‘realness’ would make it scarier.”  
  
He glanced up at Harry, a little sheepishly. “Me falling over ‘dead’ or whatever was just supposed to be added drama. Everyone else just ran out at that point or tried to fight the boggart. It was a side distraction… I didn’t realize that you-” He stopped, mouth working. “I didn’t realize that it would bring up bad memories for you.”  
  
As the situation was put into perspective, Harry felt a subdued flare of annoyance. “Well, it’s not something I would bloody well forget, is it?” He sighed, looking at his shoes. “Slytherin House couldn’t just put up some scary decorations, could they?”  
  
Malfoy smiled slightly. “Well, no. Not when we had Gryffindor to compete with.” He laughed a little nervously. “I think we officially won the contest though.”  
  
Harry smacked lightly at his shoulder, reasoning that he had just spent the past few minutes clinging to his chest, so a small touch like that couldn’t hurt. It also couldn’t reveal how desperately Harry wanted to touch him again.  
  
Malfoy’s lip quirked up into a ghost of his usual smirk. Then, he pushed off his knees and stood, still graceful despite the chaos of the past few minutes. He offered Harry a hand, and this time, he didn’t hesitate in taking it.  
  
“Well, do you fancy checking out the ball?” Malfoy said it with a forced air of casualness. He was clearly trying to change the subject to a less awkward one. “I haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”  
  
“Is it alright if you ditch your post?” Harry brushed at his clothes, trying to hide the way his knees still shook a little as he got up.  
  
“I’m sure they can manage without me for a while. Besides, it might even the playing field a bit.” He started walking towards the Great Hall, and Harry followed.  
  
“Oh, Merlin forbid they lose their star performer for a single moment!”  
  
Malfoy ignored the sarcasm. “I rather am a star, aren’t I?” He sniffed. “I can’t help it - I’m a multi-talented man.”  
  
Harry bit back a question about what other talents he was hiding. “Yes, well, keep talking, and I won’t feel bad _hexing_ you for your latest performance.”  
  
After a short walk, they arrived at the double doors. Harry suddenly didn’t want to go in just yet. He was still shaky from the adrenaline, but he also felt the odd intimacy of their interaction still palpable in the air between them. Harry had lost himself in anxiety. And Malfoy had allowed him to lose it - had _comforted_ him, even. It felt like if they opened the doors and entered the party, all of that would vanish like smoke into the air.  
  
“Malfoy, wait.”  
  
The blonde turned with a raised eyebrow. “Back to ‘Malfoy,’ am I?”  
  
Harry felt his blush deepen, as he realized he must have called him “Draco” in his panic.  
  
“I was under duress!”  
  
Malfoy smiled, his fangs gleaming in the candlelit hall. “They say your ‘true’ feelings come out in times of duress.”  
  
Harry shied from his piercing gaze.  
  
“It’s okay. I _bestow my permission_ for you to call me by my given name.” He said it so haughtily that Harry couldn’t help but smirk.  
  
“Alright, fine. _Draco_.” He thrilled at how the blonde’s eyes widened a fraction before snapping away from Harry’s. “Hold up though, you’ve got something…”  
  
He reached up and cupped Draco’s face with his hand, sliding a thumb over the man’s bottom lip to wipe the drop of blood away.  
  
Draco froze. Harry watched his adam’s apple bob as his thumb paused and parted the man’s lips slightly. _Fuck._ Was Draco leaning down, or was Harry leaning in? He couldn’t tell, but he was getting closer and closer to tasting those full, soft lips and-  
  
The door banged open. Harry and Draco sprung apart, as a student in a skeleton outfit burst past them. The girl looked back in mild surprise, and her friends paused to stare at them for a moment as they followed.  
  
Harry cleared his throat and gestured towards the still-open door. It created a window into the noise and smells and festivities, and opened him to a reality he could no longer ignore. “Err, should we go in then?”  
  
Draco swallowed again and nodded. “Sure. Yes.” He swooped into the room, regaining more of his usual swagger with each step into the crowd. When he turned back to look at Harry, even his trademark smirk was carefully back in place.  
  
Harry expected a jibe, or something arrogant like “This is it? My family throws bigger parties for lesser holidays,” but what came out of his mouth instead was:  
  
“Care to dance, Potter?”  
  
It was such an unexpected phrase that Harry paused mid-step.  
  
Then, he tensed. “What - here?” His mind was still reeling from that almost-kiss. Had he imagined Draco leaning into it? Or was he _actually interested_ and asking Harry to dance right now _because_ he was interested? His brain was overheating at the sudden possibility.  
  
But regardless, the moment before had been in private - here, the whole school was watching. He couldn’t.  
  
“I bet you’re rubbish at it,” Draco dared.  
  
Harry felt panic warring with desire inside him. He hadn’t even told his best friend yet about his sexuality. How would he be able to dance with a bloke - with _Draco_ \- in front of all the students and professors here? He would be the gossip of the school, the front page of the _Prophet_ tomorrow.  
  
And yet. Draco was standing before him in his coattails and bowtie, hair tousled and perfect, eyes languid and silver under jack-o-lantern lights. The band was playing some slow, languorous melody that sounded like autumn, and Harry wanted more than anything to touch him again. To finish that almost-kiss from mere moments ago that had him vibrating with sheer possibility.  
  
Fuck, he just couldn’t. But still, he merely stalled. “Won’t everyone see?”  
  
“How bad you are at dancing?” Draco willfully misinterpreted. He offered his hand.  
  
Harry looked down at it, then back up at the blonde.  
  
“Look, it’s a dance, not a wedding,” Draco urged. “And people are already looking, so you might as well.”  
  
And they were. Harry surveyed the room quickly, seeing more and more people whispering and glancing over in confusion; he noted Hagrid’s raised eyebrows in particular. He heard one student hiss: “See, I _told_ you it was a couple’s costume!”  
  
A sudden thought crossed his mind that he could have chosen a costume that obscured his identity more. As it was, he was royally screwed. Harry wavered, unsure of how to save the situation - if he even _wanted to_.  
  
“It’s okay if you’re awful; it’ll just make me look better.” That last jibe from Draco drove him to action, and he snatched the man’s hand.  
  
“Fine. _One_ dance.”  
  
Draco smirked smugly. “Well, I didn’t ask for _two_.”  
  
“_You absolute wanker_,” Harry muttered under his breath, so that only the git would hear.  
  
Draco only smiled wider at that, then stepped in and settled his other hand on Harry’s waist. “Relax. And _do_ follow my lead.”  
  
Harry snorted at that, but his amusement quickly faded as the music started, and he was swept into a fast-paced waltz. Though it would kill his pride to admit it aloud, he was glad for Draco’s smooth, confident steps leading his own.  
  
His fingers seemed to spark where they were tangled with Draco’s, his hip a live wire tingling at his touch. He spun, and Draco’s firm grip drew him back before he could stumble. They dipped, and Harry managed not to fall. Fuck, the man’s movements were practically liquid.  
  
And that godforsaken smirk never faltered. He stared into Harry’s eyes, not needing to see where he was going to get there seamlessly. Not needing to say anything to completely unravel him. Harry found his eyes drifting to Draco’s mouth. How his fangs protruded slightly from those warm, pink lips. Harry had never been one for monsters, but now more than anything, he wanted Draco to sink them into his neck.  
  
He could feel the heat of the crowd’s gaze upon them. And though he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Draco long enough to verify, he knew they were staring. But, at the moment, he’d rather not know. When he was looking at Draco, the rest of reality seemed to melt away. _What was Draco thinking right now?_ Was this just a joke to him? Or was it more?  
  
He prayed it was more.  
  
The song drew to a close after an impossibly long, imperceptibly fast interval, and they came to a stop. Their hands fell from where they had previously been clasped. Like a spell had been broken, Harry looked around the room at the faces ranging from curious to disgusted.  
  
_Oh no. What had he done?_  
  
“I’ve got to go.”  
  
Draco’s eyes widened for a moment, but then he too glanced around the room and grew visibly more tense. He nodded.  
  
“Should I…?”  
  
“No, that’s okay,” Harry said quickly. If they walked out together now, the news articles would be that much more horrific. He didn’t even know how _he_ would react to Draco walking him back, let alone the press. Would he expect Harry to invite him in? Would he even _want_ to stay? Maybe Harry was interpreting this all wrong. The dance could have been a humorous, friendly gesture.  
  
But he had never danced with Ron.  
  
Harry pushed through the crowd, reaching the doors after an eternity. Not looking anyone in the eyes, ignoring calls of his name. He returned to his room.  
  
Kicking off his shoes, he flopped into a chair by the fire. He figured he might as well get comfortable, as he had a whole night’s worth of thinking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this slow burn has finally sizzled somewhere, hasn't it? Also, it's funny that I'm posting this as a "bonus" this week, and it turned out to be the longest chapter to date. Let me know what you think of Harry and Draco's tumultuous courting!
> 
> And also let me know what you think of my picture ahhhhh. I was very hesitant to add it in, because I know that everyone has their own idea of what the characters look like, which I definitely don't want to ruin for anyone. But I figured, you could take it or leave it, and let me know if you hate it! (Please don't hate it.) 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the Halloween ball just as much as your spooky festivites tonight! As always, thanks for reading.  
xoxo


	12. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Announcement:  
Hey everyone, I have a small change to the story's tagging that I'd like to address before getting into this week's chapter. As someone very new to AO3, when I first started posting this story, I didn't fully understand the nuances between the "mature" and "explicit" ratings. I honestly thought that most sexual content would be contained under a "mature" rating, but after careful consideration, I've decided to switch my story's rating to "explicit" just so that no one has any negative surprises or misplaced expectations going forward. I will always tag explicit content in the notes before the story (like this one), so please be mindful of the trigger warnings and take care of your mental health.  
On the other side of the token - if you feel you don't need any warnings, and don't want any content spoilers, simply skip the beginning notes (though I will occassionally make announcements like this one). As always, thanks for reading, and I apologize if this change dissuades you from continuing. 
> 
> t/w: homophobic rhetoric, kissing

  
Harry awoke to a sharp rapping at his door. His eyes peeled open, crusty and bloodshot. He must have fallen asleep in the chair sometime after about six.  
  
With a hand pressed to his throbbing head, he cracked open the door.  
  
“Hello?” His voice sounded like a creaky hinge.  
  
“Oh, Harry!” Hermione sounded worried. “You weren’t answering your Floo!”  
  
He looked back at the fireplace in confusion. “Yeah, I was sleeping. And it was closed. Did we plan to talk this morning?”  
  
Pulling the door a little wider, he noticed Ron standing there too with a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ in his hand. Memories of last night’s dance bombarded him in full force. “Shit.”  
  
Ron raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t seem mad when he said, “Mate, we need to talk.”  
  
“I suppose we do.” Harry opened the door the rest of the way and gestured for them to come inside.  
  
As he pulled at his collar, he realized that he had never changed out of his costume last night and probably looked a mess. He ran a hand through his hair and spelled his fangs back to normal length before joining them in the armchairs.  
  
“Harry, you should look at this,” Hermione urged, pointing to the paper.  
  
He sighed, bracing himself as he picked it up. Skeeter never disappointed.  
  
The headline screamed at him from the front page: 

**HARRY POTTER REVEALS SHOCKING LOVE AFFAIR WITH DEATH EATER**

He cringed.

“Fuck, do I have to read this shit?”

Hermione pursed her lips, and he read on.

Famed war hero, Harry Potter, revealed his scandalous secret at last night’s Halloween Ball - he has been betraying his fans, friends, and _fiancée_ by consorting with known violent Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Witnesses reported their shock and devastation at this turn of events, citing the treachery of The Chosen One going against all values of morality and decency in his choice of date. As if that wasn’t enough, the conspiring couple was said to have shamelessly displayed their devotion to each other - and to _sin_ \- with matching costumes with which they flaunted their perversion in everyone’s faces.  
When asked about any precursor to Potter’s deviancy, an anonymous source reported that even in school, his lasciviousness knew no bounds. ‘I was afraid to change in the same locker room as him,’ they testified. ‘Rumors of his boy-loving nature were colorful and widespread.’ They went on to describe Potter’s inappropriate fascination with other boys such as fellow Triwizard champions, Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory; though, his scope was vast and ruthless: targeting even former professor Remus Lupin, with whom he shared many ‘private lessons.’  
Of course, his most noted obsession proved to be none other than aforementioned Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Several former classmates attested to his obsession with the man, citing Potter’s eagerness to stalk him in their later years at Hogwarts. Does Potter’s perverted interest in ‘bad boys’ extend to a more malevolent interest in the Dark Arts?  
The scene of this transgression took place at a Halloween-themed Ball at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was proposed by current Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, who created the yearly dance to give students a sense of normalcy and peace after the tragic battle that ravaged the castle and our very _community_. But can students ever feel ‘safe’ in a place with violent criminals running amok disguised as _teachers?_ Aided by people in positions of power like Potter himself? No - we cannot stand for such treatment of our children any longer; perhaps it is time for the old and misguided Headmistress to retire, and with her, any teachers that profane the good name of wizards everywhere!

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and folded the paper onto the coffee table. He felt sick. It took a long moment to remember how to breathe, then the next hoping that this was all a nightmare.  
  
“Harry, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Hermione’s soft voice startled him from his musings.  
  
“Not really.” He turned towards Ron and heaved a sigh. “So, as you can see, I’m a despicable, perverted _deviant_ who’s hunting down boys in the street. Sorry it never came up before.” His tone was acid, and he saw them both recoil.  
  
“Harry! That’s not true,” Hermione insisted.  
  
He slumped, face falling into his hands. “Maybe it is, Hermione. Maybe I’m just a disgusting, twisted person and have been all along. Clearly, I was an idiot for thinking it might be okay that I’m bi.”  
  
He felt Ron’s hand clap on his shoulder and squeeze. “Hey, it _is_ okay, mate.” He ignored Harry’s disbelieving grunt. “Anyway, I kinda knew you liked blokes. That doesn’t make you ‘horrible’ or ‘perverted.’ It’s normal.”  
  
Harry looked up at Ron’s warm gaze, a little startled. “You...knew?”  
  
Ron grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, well...I think Hermione already told you, but you weren’t exactly subtle sixth year.”  
  
Harry rubbed at his eyes wearily. “So everyone’s been saying.”  
  
“And that part about Krum is rubbish,” Ron said, jabbing a finger at the paragraph. “Everyone with eyes thought he was fit. That wasn’t just you.”  
  
Harry felt the corners of his lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. “You always did like Krum, didn’t you?”  
  
Ron’s cheeks pinkened, but he didn’t look away. “Like I said, it’s normal.” He crinkled his brow. “Though, I can’t say that Malfoy is _my_ type. He’s still a pointy little git.”  
  
Harry snorted at the very thought of Ron fancying him. “Thanks, Ron. And Hermione. You two really are great friends.”  
  
Hermione beamed and drew him into a group hug. When they parted though, a look of concern flitted back across her face.  
  
“But Harry, what are you going to do about this? I mean, I’m sure the press will be swarming you today - if they’re not here already.”  
  
He frowned. “You’re right. I guess… I guess I’ll just tell them that it’s true. I mean, it doesn’t make sense to deny it at this point. Especially if I ever wanted to date- err, _see_ a guy. Now that I know.” Harry paused for a moment to think. “But first, I want to talk to McGonagall. I didn’t mean for her to get drawn up into this.”  
  
Hermione was nodding. “I agree. But do you have a way to avoid the press until then? Your cloak, maybe?”  
  
Harry shook his head. “Neville has it. Either that or it’s in the common room. We used it last night in our exhibit. It’s okay - I’ll use the map.” He stood. “But first, I’m going to get cleaned up.”  
  
Hermione stood as well, grabbing his arm. “Harry, what about Malfoy? The article wasn’t exactly complimentary. He’s probably wondering-”  
  
Harry tensed under her grip. “I’ll...talk to him today as well.”

  


With the help of the Marauder’s Map, Harry made it to Minerva’s office without encountering anyone. Luckily, it looked like no reporters had been let inside the castle yet, but the map still helped him avoid students and staff on his way.  
  
Minerva pulled the door open after his second knock. “Harry. Good morning. Come in, come in!”  
  
He entered and took a seat by the ornate desk that was far more organized now than Dumbledore had ever kept it. She took a seat behind it, and looked sternly down her nose at him.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Professor!” he burst out, unable to bear the sudden silence. “I didn’t know that Skeeter would rope you into her slander of me...I was rather hoping she’d stick to insulting one person at a time.”  
  
Minerva’s lip twitched. “Yes, well, don’t we all wish for that?” She busied her hands stirring a cup of tea. “Harry, do you know one of my favorite hobbies?”  
  
He shook his head, though the question seemed rhetorical anyway.  
  
She continued, “There’s nothing better than waking up early, settling down with a cup of tea and the _Prophet_ and seeing who is being insulted today. It’s fun because they’re all downright ludicrous accusations that no one in their right mind would believe, and so they don’t.”  
  
Harry felt some of the tension leave his body. “So...you’re not mad about the article then?”  
  
She turned and summoned another teacup and a platter to the table. “Have a biscuit, Potter.” Minerva was definitely smiling now. “On the contrary, I’m quite amused.”  
  
“But she might stir up some trouble with parents that don’t want you here, and-”  
  
“Harry,” she interrupted, “do you know what determines a lot about a person?”  
  
He shook his head again, puzzled at the second sharp turn in conversation.  
  
“Their animagus. It reflects their personality - their very _soul_, one could argue. That’s why it’s very hard for me to feel threatened by the words of an insignificant, albeit annoying, beetle on the ground.” She looked at him searchingly. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”  
  
He gave a small smile. “I think so, Minerva.”  
  
“Good,” she said briskly, turning back to a pile of papers on the desk. “Now, I’m sure you have other, more important people to talk to this morning, so be off with you!”  
  
Harry chuckled, and headed towards the dungeons. 

  


“Harry? What is it?” Draco looked tense this morning. For once, his hair was messy, and his eyes even looked a little red - like he too had been unable to sleep.  
  
“I came to talk about the article.”  
  
His mouth hardened a little. “Right. Of course.”  
  
When Draco didn’t move to let him in, Harry gestured and asked, “Can I?”  
  
“Right,” he repeated, then turned and left Harry to follow him.  
  
He was surprised to see that it looked a bit messier than last time he had glanced in; the bedsheets were strewn onto the ground like he had been tossing and turning. “Did I wake you?” he asked.  
  
Draco glanced back at him, jaw still tight. “Huh? No.”  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
At that, Draco stopped and turned, expression derisive. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?” he snapped, but his body was bowstring-tight.  
  
“I mean…” Harry started, unsure how to broach the topic. “You saw the article, right?”  
  
Instead of answering, Draco gestured towards the table where the _Prophet_ lay spread open to the offensive page. Harry grimaced.  
  
“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-” he swallowed, “I shouldn’t have danced with you last night. I knew something like this would happen.”  
  
Draco dragged a hand through his hair roughly. It stood up on one side like he’d been doing that a lot this morning. Harry noticed with interest that the man had rolled up his sleeves again today, the faded tattoo visible on his left arm.  
  
“It was just a stupid dance!” he snarled suddenly, throwing his hands in the air.  
  
Harry recoiled. “_I_ know that! It’s not _my_ fault that the press takes everything so seriously-”  
  
“I’m not talking about the press, I’m talking about _you_.”  
  
Harry stopped, his mouth working. “What do you mean?” A sudden anxiety bloomed in his chest. “I thought we were talking about the article.”  
  
Draco snorted and folded his arms. “_I’m_ not talking about the article.”  
  
“Then what are you talking about?” Harry wasn’t sure he had kept all the fear out of his voice.  
  
But Draco, all clenched jaw and arched brow, said nothing.  
  
_What was he talking about? Was this about...his family maybe?_ He remembered Neville’s words about how uptight pureblood families could be. _Had they owled him, upset?_ It was all Harry could think of.  
  
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused problems with your family,” he started.  
  
“_Excuse me?_” Draco’s tone was lethal.  
  
“I mean, I assume _that’s_ why you’re mad, right? I know I’m not the pureblooded woman they expected you to be seen with-”  
  
“How _dare_ you bring my parents into this,” he breathed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea about _anything!_” His eyes were storm clouds, sparking dangerously.  
  
“Why are you so mad?”  
  
Draco gritted his teeth. “Just get out.”  
  
When Harry didn’t move, he flew into motion, shoving him towards the door. “I said _get out!_”  
  
“_Why are you so mad?_” Harry asked again, grabbing the doorframe so he couldn’t be forced out until he knew why.  
  
Draco barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you kidding me? You still don’t get it? I always knew you were thick, but this is really too much! I’m not mad about the article, _I’m mad because you regret it_.”  
  
Harry froze. But Draco wasn’t done.  
  
“I’m _mad_, because every time I think we’re getting somewhere, you pull away and give me that same, clueless look like I’ve gone and imagined it all. I’m _mad_, because I endure all this _shit_-” he gestured to article, headline screaming “**DEATH EATER**,” in bold letters, “-for you, but you still won’t bloody _kiss_ me.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened to globes. “I’ll kiss you,” he said stupidly.  
  
“I’m-...” Draco started, then stopped. “Wait, what?”  
  
The meanings of both their statements seemed to sink in during the long moment that followed. He could hardly believe it - Draco _wanted Harry to kiss him?_ Though several seconds delayed, the blood rushed to his face.  
  
That seemed to startle a small noise from Draco. “Wait, you’re not...kidding, are you?” His voice was low and a little bit desperate. “Please tell me you’re not kidding.”  
  
“Are _you?_” Harry countered, feeling _his_ voice climb in pitch. When Draco shook his head mutely, Harry continued, “Then fucking _kiss_ me already.”  
  
He thought he would die of embarrassment as Draco took a quick step forward, then paused, reaching his hands slowly to cup Harry’s face. _Was he dreaming?_  
  
Draco drew his thumb across his lip shakily like Harry had done to him last night. Merlin, his heart was racing. He let Draco pull his bottom lip down slightly, opening him to the kiss, as he leaned down to catch Harry’s mouth with his own.  
  
Harry nearly groaned when their lips touched for the first time. The kiss was soft and warm and perfect. Draco started slow, hesitant, but as Harry’s hands wrapped around his biceps - pulling him in - he grew more confident. Soon, his tongue was delving into Harry’s mouth, drawing up and across in languid strokes that left him tingling.  
  
Draco broke away with a gasp. His cheeks were flushed, and Harry noticed how long his eyelashes were. “Fuck, Harry,” he whispered.  
  
His voice was low and husky, almost strangled with longing, and Harry felt himself grow impossibly harder.  
  
He leaned back in, kissing Draco with reckless abandon. Harry tangled his hands in that silky blonde hair, pulling the man closer by the base of his neck. Draco pressed into him with more vigor, walking him backwards until he knocked against the wall. Trailing his mouth across Harry’s jawbone, he kissed his way to Harry’s neck.  
  
Harry nearly whined, letting his head fall back so Draco could bite and suck at it more easily. Draco drew back with a surprised chuckle. “You like that, Harry?”  
  
Harry couldn’t manage words at the moment, so he merely bit his lip and nodded. _Draco Malfoy was kissing him_. That thought crowded out all others.  
  
“Fuck,” Draco repeated hoarsely, returning to his neck with a bite, then swirling his tongue languidly across the forming bruise. When he glanced up at Harry next, his pupils were blown wide, his eyes glassy, nearly black.  
  
Harry’s breath stuttered in his chest.  
  
“Draco, I…”  
  
When he trailed off, the blonde stole his mouth in another savage kiss. Harry lost himself the sensation until Draco dragged his face away.  
  
“Fuck, we can’t-...I mean, not right now. My parents-”  
  
It was Harry’s turn to be disbelieving. “What’ve _your parents_ got to do with this?”  
  
Draco closed his eyes and swore softly to himself. “You were right - they _are_ mad about this. About the article. And I said I’d come over this morning and talk with them.”  
  
Harry grabbed him by the shoulders. “So do it later!”  
  
With pained restraint, Draco pulled Harry’s hands from his shirt. “Harry, Harry… You clearly have no idea what they’re like. If I don’t go, my mother will show up at my door in a few minutes. And I’d rather not have _this_-” he gestured towards Harry and himself, “be tainted by _that_.”  
  
Harry growled with frustration. “So - what? You kiss me once, and then you’re going to leave me here pining after you? Like I’ve been doing for weeks?”  
  
Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “Have you really?”  
  
Harry refused to meet his eyes. “Maybe.”  
  
Draco’s hand cupped his face, forcing him to make eye contact. The expression he saw was half Draco’s usual smirk, half a positively _glowing_ happiness that he had never seen from the man before.  
  
Impulsively, he leaned in and kissed the blonde one more time. “Fine. Go on! Talk to your parents. But I better see you at dinner.”  
  
Draco stood, grinning. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'll be darned. _Kissing._ In my pure, innocent fic.  
It certainly took a while to get there.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Much more fun to come.
> 
> xoxo


	13. A Second Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: homophobic/biphobic rhetoric, masturbation, kissing, mild humiliation

As Harry waited back in his room, he grew increasingly more frantic. What if Draco’s parents convinced him not to see Harry anymore? He had dealt with the two of them before, and while Narcissa had aided him in a time of crisis, he had seen the extent of Lucius’ prejudice as well. Harry was a half-blood. _And_ a bloke. They would not be happy to see him with their son.  
  
_Had it been a mistake to let Draco go?_  
  
It certainly felt like a mistake, though Harry couldn’t tell if that was his head or dick talking. Kissing Draco had been so perfect that, in retrospect, Harry was mildly alarmed by how all-consuming it had been. He would have let Draco do just about anything, as long as he kept kissing him.  
  
_Was that part of his plan?_ Harry considered the thought for a moment before dismissing it. He didn’t think this was a ruse - Draco had seemed too genuine to be lying. Even though he had proved in the past that he was very good at lying. But still, Harry had never seen either such frustration or such elation from the man before today, and he figured that openness of emotion had to count for something.  
  
Despite his worries, Harry was also desperately horny. Draco had left him more aroused than he remembered being since he was a hormonal teenager, and had he not had the map, he probably wouldn’t have chanced returning to his room in case he was seen like this. And it didn’t help that he kept repeating this morning’s scene over and over in his head, which was quickly driving him crazy.  
  
He needed to wank. He couldn’t trust himself in public until he had.  
  
Harry cast a locking charm on his door, then slumped into a chair. He unzipped his jeans, wasting no time reaching in and grabbing himself. He thought of Draco, their kiss, the smooth maneuver that somehow had him up against the wall before he knew he was moving. The bloody Slytherin was _too_ fucking graceful - it was obscene.  
  
He remembered the blissful pressure of Draco’s mouth on his neck - the low rumble of his voice as he asked if Harry liked it. Harry could probably come from just listening to that voice - just from that _sentence_ alone.  
  
He thought of all the times that voice had thrown insults at him, how it sparked something fiery in him that was not completely indignation. How Draco had called him foul, foul names and tried his best to humiliate him in front of everyone.  
  
With a start, he realized he was growing even harder.  
  
_Do I_ like _it when Draco insults me?_ he thought frantically. He thought of all the arguments with Draco over the years that had left him ramped-up and burning with the need for some sort of action. Only, he was just now discovering the kind of “action” he had needed might not have been exactly what he expected.  
  
Maybe Skeeter was right - he was probably messed up. No, he given how much he was enjoying this, he was _definitely_ messed up. But the one good thing about this fall from grace was his indifference to falling further.  
  
_Scared, Potter?_ He let the voice from his memories wash over him, teasing and demeaning him, and Harry pumped faster than before.  
  
“Fuck-” he groaned, as he came all over his stomach.  
  
After a long minute heaving, he spelled away the mess. “I’m so fucked up,” he muttered to himself. “No wonder Ginny wanted to leave me.” 

  


In the afternoon, Draco still hadn’t returned - he was checking his map every few minutes just in case - so Harry decided to go for a fly. While riding his broom always usually calmed him down, today he just couldn’t focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to his Quidditch matches against Draco, and with the man acting as the flying instructor here, Harry wondered whether he’d ever be able to put him out of his mind when he flew again.  
  
He soared across the grounds, landing a bit past the forest in a grassy patch. For a long moment, he felt a little calmer, enjoying the ruffling breeze on the grass. It wasn’t until reporters started swarming out of the trees and apparating in that he realized he must have crossed the Hogwarts boundary.  
  
“Harry Potter! Can we get a quote for _Witch Weekly_ about your salacious affair?”  
  
“How does it feel to throw this indecency in the face of everyone who’s ever admired and supported you in the past?”  
  
“Can we get a quote about your stance on the Dark Arts?”  
  
“How long have you been gay?”  
  
The last question came from a strange woman in mismatched clothing representing _The Quibbler_. Distantly, he realized she must know Luna.  
  
“Actually, I’m bisexual,” he snapped.  
  
Instead of shutting up the reporters though, this had the opposite effect; they shoved in closer, like sharks smelling blood in the water. Any information was newsworthy.  
  
“So how many threesomes have you had?”  
  
“What-” he stuttered.  
  
“When did you discover your sexuality? Was it at the hands of seductive Death Eater, Draco Malfoy? Did he try and tempt you to his side during the war?”  
  
“No, that’s-”  
  
“Is there any truth to the rumor about you and former professor, Remus Lupin? Were _you_ the real reason he was fired?”  
  
“He wasn’t _fired_, he-”  
  
“Are you the ‘man’ in the relationship, or _you know?_” The reporter gave him a sickening smirk, and prepped his quill for an answer.  
  
Harry ground his teeth. The other reporters seemed to be waiting with bated breath for his answer to that one, not realizing how violating, how wrong it all was.  
  
“That’s not even how that works!” he said at last. “Also, it’s _private_.”  
  
“But you don’t deny that you’ve been sleeping with him?”  
  
“No, I never said-”  
  
“Do you think you were turned gay because you had no solid father figure in your life?”  
  
At that, Harry got on his broom and left. 

  


By dinner, several other articles had come out about him, citing his surly defensiveness as a sure sign that he was consumed by the Dark Arts. Harry trudged down to the Great Hall, knowing that even if he hadn’t planned on meeting Draco there, he would still have to face everyone sooner or later.  
  
When he entered, he could definitely hear a hush and then whispers, even though he wasn’t looking up to see. He fell into his usual seat at the staff table, noting that Draco still wasn’t here yet.  
  
Neville stopped and patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. “You okay, mate?”  
  
Harry nodded half-heartedly.  
  
“Hey, I’m sorry about what I said before, I…” Neville turned a little pink. “I didn’t realize you were asking that stuff about Malfoy because you were _interested_ and not, well, you know…”  
  
Harry blushed a little in return. “Yeah, well. It’s alright. It’s kind of a recent thing.”  
  
“Yeah? How long have you and Malfoy been together then?”  
  
“We’re not,” Harry said quickly. “At least, not yet.” He thought about the kiss. “Or maybe we are? I’m not sure.”  
  
At that, Neville gave him a knowing smile. “Oh, it’s still _that_ phase. Well, cheers - good luck mate. I’m sure he’ll come around.” He walked to the other end of the table where Hannah was.  
  
Harry noticed Flitwick frowning at him from several seats down. Life just couldn’t be easy, could it?  
  
A few minutes after the meal started, Harry was tucking into a plate of bangers and mash when Malfoy appeared next to him and sat.  
  
“Hello, Harry.” He looked tired, but smiled nonetheless.  
  
“Hey.” Harry wiped at his face self-consciously with a napkin. He tried to hide his excitement at merely seeing the man - and that bit of relief. “How was...your talk?”  
  
It didn’t escape his notice that this was probably their first “normal” conversation in nine long years.  
  
Draco busied his hands with serving up some food, every movement delicate and precise. “It was..._okay_. Well, not the best, really. But nothing I can’t handle.”  
  
He glanced up at Harry. “Would you pass the gravy?”  
  
Harry handed it to him. “What do you mean, just ‘okay?’ Do I have to worry about them hexing my balls off, or not?”  
  
Draco snorted, though Harry saw him tense a bit as well. “Nothing like that,” he said, eyes flashing to the side. “Anyway, how was _your_ afternoon?”  
  
Harry tried to temper his incredulous look. “Are you serious?” At Draco’s innocently raised eyebrows, he continued. “I mean, not wonderful. I got cornered by some reporters who then wrote more horribly inaccurate articles, and now everyone in the Great Hall is staring at us while we eat - had you noticed?”  
  
Draco smirked. “Of course I noticed. But unlike you, I can control my expressions.”  
  
Harry blustered. “I can control my expressions!”  
  
That only made Draco bite at his lip to keep from laughing. “Sure you can.” He deftly sliced a bite of food and brought it to his lips.  
  
“Don’t-” Harry started.  
  
Draco paused, fork next to his mouth. “Don’t what?”  
  
“Don’t...do that _thing_ you did before.” Harry looked away, sure he was blushing hard enough that everyone at the far end of the castle could see. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Merlin, why did they serve _sausage_, today of all days?”  
  
That made Draco laugh; although, thankfully, he refrained from fellating his food this time. After all, today it certainly would not go unnoticed. He did keep catching Harry watching him eat though, and at one point shot him a wink that made his throat go dry.  
  
While they were eating and trading (hopefully) furtive looks, Minerva announced the results of the decorating contest to the school. Hufflepuff had won. It seemed that Gryffindor and Slytherin went too far in trying to outdo one another in the terror department that no one much wanted to vote for them. Also, there had been some sabotage at the end of the night in which Slytherin students had blown out all the candles in the Gryffindor hallways, causing the Devil’s Snare to entrap several students before Neville noticed. That had left a bad taste in their mouths.  
  
And after all, as Minerva pointedly commented, it was a _decorating_ contest - not an interactive haunted house showdown.  
  
Harry grumpily accepted this, but only because he was so distracted by the way Draco picked up his goblet between his thumb and forefinger, pinky floating elegantly to the side. And the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. By the end of the meal, Harry was desperate to get him alone.  
  
As they stood and were walking out of the Great Hall, however, Minerva called out.  
  
“Mister Malfoy! A word, if you please?”  
  
They both stopped and turned, Harry mostly out of disbelieving frustration.  
  
“Yes, Headmistress?” Draco’s voice was polite and neutral, though Harry noticed his jaw had tightened.  
  
_Was she mad about the dance after all? She had seemed so accepting this morning_.  
  
“I wish to discuss some Quidditch matters with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”  
  
Harry nearly laughed with relief. “But Minerva, surely that can wait? I have, err, matters to discuss with Malfoy as well.”  
  
She raised an eyebrow, yet refrained from commenting. “I’m afraid not, Harry. The first game of the season is tomorrow - as I’m sure you’re well aware.”  
  
Harry clenched his jaw to prevent further complaints from spilling out. That _was_ important. Yet selfishly, he couldn’t seem to rank it as _more_ important than his current desire for Draco.  
  
“Oh, of course,” he gritted out. “How silly of me. I’d hate to keep our Quidditch coach from doing his job. Will that, er, take long?” He hated how transparently desperate he sounded.  
  
Draco seemed to find the whole situation more amusing than frustrating, judging by the expression on his face.  
  
“I’m afraid we have a fair amount to discuss regarding safety measures and getting the pitch in order. It’s probably best if you reconvened to address _your_ matters tomorrow after the game.”  
  
Harry tried to force his grimace into a smile. “Right. See you then.” His eyes caught Draco’s ever-intense gaze.  
  
“See you, Potter.” 

  


Draco must have still been busy with Quidditch matters the next morning, because he didn’t make it to breakfast. Harry sat sulkily with Neville and Hannah, conceding that the only good thing about the situation was that he didn’t have to pretend that he wasn’t obsessed with Draco anymore. That was relieving - it was rather draining to hide the vast majority of his thoughts.  
  
“Where’s your favorite Slytherin this morning, mate?”  
  
Harry humphed. “Quidditch stuff. McGonagall called him in to get things ready for the match last night, and I haven’t heard from him since.”  
  
He saw Hannah smiling serenely into her tea.  
  
“What?”  
  
She startled a little, then met his eyes. “Oh. Nothing, really. It’s just nice to see _you_ pining after _him_ for a change.”  
  
Harry scowled, but leaned forward with interest. “What do you mean? It’s not like _he_ is usually pining for _me_.”  
  
She laughed. “Oh, Harry, you should have seen him when you stopped eating in the Great Hall.”  
  
He blushed, having largely forgotten how Draco had been the first and only one to really notice his disappearance. After all the time he had spent convincing himself that Draco was straight and could never like him back, he felt foolish - and slightly giddy - in finding out more of the truth. Though, it was embarrassing that others had noticed before him.  
  
“Yeah? What was he like?” Harry asked. Everything was still sinking in and hard to believe, and therefore he couldn’t even begin to visualize what Draco’s “pining” might look like.  
  
“Positively murderous,” she said. 

  


By afternoon, he still hadn’t seen Draco, and he had to resign himself to waiting until after the game. Yesterday, when Minerva had mentioned it, it had seemed like a lifetime to face apart. Why was Draco so free most of the time, and yet the one time Harry wanted - no, _needed_ \- to see him, he was busy with actual coaching matters? It just wasn’t right.  
  
He took his seat in the stands begrudgingly. He didn’t much care about the outcome between Slytherin and Ravenclaw’s game, though he supposed he was rooting for Ravenclaw out of reflex. The Gryffindors around him in the stands were at least.  
  
The breath whooshed out of him when Draco flew onto the pitch. He had forgotten - or repressed, really - how fit and _delectable_ Draco looked in his Quidditch gear. How nice he looked on a broom. A somewhat panicked fantasy of the blonde running his gloved hands all over Harry raced through his mind before he could push it away.  
  
_I really need to challenge Draco to some more Quidditch one-on-ones_, he thought, uncaring that his reasons were entirely shallow.  
  
Draco seemed a little hesitant in front of the large crowd at first, but he quickly regained his confidence. He summoned the team captains to the center.  
  
“Now, I want a nice, clean game!” he shouted. It was what Hooch had always said. “At least, mostly,” he added with a smirk and released the balls.  
  
The game was fairly evenly matched, though Harry would be the first to admit that he was mostly watching the referee. Draco’s seeker skills seemed to transfer well to the quick turns to avoid players and bludgers, and his roving gaze caught most - if not all - of the obvious fouls.  
  
He blew the whistle. “Broom-grabbing! Foul shot to Ravenclaw.” Some Slytherins booed and called him a traitor, which - to his credit - he simply ignored, looking mildly annoyed.  
  
In the end, Slytherin won. Harry wanted to see Draco so badly that he didn’t much care, so long as the game was finally over. In fact, he wasn’t willing to take any more chances on missing him by accident, so he headed down to the Quidditch locker rooms to intercept.  
  
He didn’t see Draco, so he waited until all the students had changed and left before tentatively pushing his way inside. Like he expected, Draco was there now.  
  
Harry took a step in, then stopped.  
  
Draco glanced over his shoulder, having just pulled off his shirt. “Harry?” His surprised look was replaced with a grin. “What, you want payback for the time I walked in on you?”  
  
Harry licked at his lips, which were suddenly very dry. He could make out the silvery scars on Draco’s chest from his attack all those years ago. But he was more focused on the sheen of sweat that highlighted the blonde’s lean pecs and abs in the half-light.  
  
“I just-... Wait, was it on purpose that time?”  
  
Draco continued to strip as if he weren’t there, chuckling. “No. But it wasn’t unwelcome either.” He peeled off his knee pads, then kicked off his shoes.  
  
Harry took another step forward, unsure of what to do - unsure of what Draco _wanted_ him to do. He knew what _he_ wanted.  
  
Draco glanced up then, maintaining eye contact as he slid his trousers down to the floor. He arched a brow. “Well, Potter, are you going to just keep _leering_ at me from across the room?”  
  
Merlin, he was in nothing but his underwear again - this pair an emerald green. Harry’s face was so hot from his blush that he thought he was going to faint. He wanted to do unspeakable things to man in front of him.  
  
“Ca-Can I kiss you again?” he stuttered, sounding like an utter dolt.  
  
Draco looked him up and down, bursting into laughter. “Merlin, I forgot how terribly straightforward you Gryffindors are.” He sauntered up to Harry. “But yes, you can.”  
  
Harry practically lunged at him, grabbing his neck and pulling him into a scorching kiss. He felt the ravaging thirst that had built inside him easing and quenching as he licked and sucked at Draco’s waiting lips.  
  
But he wanted more.  
  
His hands danced in the air next to Draco’s shoulders, wishing to run down his smooth flesh and explore. _Was that okay?_  
  
Draco drew back for a breath, and his lip quirked up on one side when he noticed the hands. “You can touch me, you know.”  
  
When Harry hesitated, Draco sighed dramatically and grabbed them, pulling the hands to his chest just below his necklace. He drew Harry’s palms across his pecs, down his abdomen, against his sharp hipbones - Harry was almost trembling at this point - where Draco promptly released them with a snort.  
  
“You get the idea, I trust?”  
  
Shakily, Harry retraced the path of his hands in reverse, feeling the smooth, angular lines of Draco’s body. How many times had he let his gaze wander over this body - the relaxed slouch of it during class, the bending, flexing motions on a broom? How many times had he unknowingly imagined what it would feel like?  
  
His fingers caught on the line of the largest scar, caressing it lightly. Chest tight, he said, “I don’t think I ever apologized for this.”  
  
Draco scowled. “I didn’t strip so you could _apologize_ to me.” He tried to brush the fingers from his scar, but Harry held them there.  
  
“Still. It needs to be said.” He swallowed hard. “I still have nightmares about it sometimes. I didn’t know what the spell would do. I’m so sorry.” The last part came out in a whisper.  
  
Draco nearly growled with frustration. “It’s fine! It’s _past_. Now bloody kiss me again, you idiot.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened as Draco drew him into another passionate kiss. But after a moment or two, he forgot his guilt and melted into the sensation. He let his hands roam again, drawing up the line between Draco’s shoulder blades, notching the lilt of his spine, then skating back down. He didn’t quite dare grab the man’s arse yet.  
  
Draco was touching him too - though, over his bulky robes and clothes. Somehow, though he was the one fully clothed, Harry felt much less in control than the Slytherin, whose hands seemed to massage him into putty.  
  
“Sh-should we go back to your room?” Harry managed, but just barely, because Draco was sucking at his neck again.  
  
He nipped him - earning a squeak - then drew back to smirk at Harry. “That’s the first clever thing you’ve ever said.”  
  
Draco stepped away from him to grab his clothes from the bench, and Harry finally got a clear view of his hard-on straining against the green boxer briefs. His throat went dry. He had never done anything with a man before, but it was taking everything he had not to fall to his knees in front of Draco and peel back that waistband and-  
  
The blonde stepped into his trousers and began buckling his belt with swift, practiced motions. Harry nearly groaned at the loss of visual. Merlin, he hadn’t even gotten a proper chance to admire those finely-toned _legs_.  
  
Draco finished buttoning his shirt and straightening his cuffs, then turned back to Harry with a grin. “Don’t look so disappointed - you’ll see it all again.”  
  
Harry nodded, looking away. His panicked fantasy returned to mind.  
  
“Next time...youcanleaveonthegloves-” he muttered in an almost inaudible voice.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
Harry’s eyes darted to his, cheeks burning. “Next time, you can leave on the gloves. If you want to, I mean.”  
  
Draco’s only response was a raised eyebrow and a wicked, wicked grin. 

  


As they entered the castle though, a group of Slytherins Harry recognized from the Quidditch team rushed over to mob Draco.  
  
“Malfoy, you’ve got to celebrate with us! We’ve got a whole party planned in the common room.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth, clearly caught by surprise. “That’s...that’s alright - you go have fun. Go celebrate. I’m a professor now, anyway...”  
  
“Oh bollocks!” said one girl. “You’re barely older than us. We’re contemporaries. And you helped us train, so you gotta share in the celebrating! This doesn’t happen every day.”  
  
“Yeah! What she said,” a burly senior shouted. They were clearly already lost in a party mentality.  
  
The girl seized him by the arm and started dragging him down the hall, the others swarmed close around them, chanting Slytherin cheers. Harry, who was not a Slytherin, was promptly ignored.  
  
Draco glanced back over his shoulder with astonishment. He seemed torn, but the crowd from his House didn’t seem likely to let him escape any time soon. Draco shrugged, looking back at Harry and having the good grace to look a bit sheepish. “See you later?”  
  
Harry wanted to pull his hair out. _Was this just going to keep happening to them?_  
  
But he merely crossed his arms and watched his plan for the evening get hauled away once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello. No food fellating today, I apologize, but hopefully you'll forgive me with the coming chapters.
> 
> Also, the reporters might seem kind of over-the-top, but only because reporters/people in real life ask ridiculously invasive questions to queer people all the time. It's unfortunate, and I wish it weren't true, but here we are.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	14. In Which Harry Reads a Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: kissing, oral sex, mild bdsm themes

That night, since he suddenly found himself with a lot of free time, Harry wandered into his office with the hopes of getting some work done. He kind of knew that it wasn’t going to happen, but after years of hanging around Hermione, he had been conditioned to feel guilty if he wasn’t even _pretending_ to do work. The second he sat down at his desk, though, his mind began to wander to the events in the locker room.  
  
Merlin, he wished he had just kept going. If he had known that Draco would be stolen away from him, he certainly wouldn’t have stopped so soon. He had been an idiot for suggesting they leave.  
  
As he mourned the potential of the night, his eyes landed on the book next to his quills. _The Boy Who Lived: Loves, Lies, and Loneliness_. It rested where he had left it weeks ago, a fine powder of dust already settling over the gaudy, silhouetted cover.  
  
He picked it up, marvelling at how much had happened since those first pranks of the year. In retrospect, it was pretty clear that Draco had been trying to get his attention with a move like this. Not that he had noticed at the time.  
  
He smiled and flipped to the index:

  


**Part 1: Little Orphan Harry**  
Chapter 1: The Tragic Backstory  
Chapter 2: Stairway to Stardom  
Chapter 3: Crying Late at Night, Eyes Swimming with Ghosts of his Past  
**Part 2: Juicy Flings**  
Chapter 1: Daaaang, Cho Chang!  
Chapter 2: Average Bookworm Snatched by Viktor Krum  
Chapter 3: Viktor Krum Snatches His Attention Next  
Chapter 4: Getting Steamy with Cedric  
Chapter 5: Loony Love  
Chapter 6: Rich Boy meets Poor Girl  
Chapter 7: Lions and Snakes  
**Part 3: Lies and Libel**  
Chapter 1: The First Lie Harry Ever Told  
Chapter 2: How One Lie Became Many  
Chapter 3: When Lying Becomes Compulsive  
Chapter 4: Lying to the Ministry of Magic in Front of Hundreds of People  
Chapter 5: Lying Perniciously in order to get More Media Attention  
Chapter 6: Lying Nonstop All the Time and Why We Let Him Get Away With It

  


Harry slammed the book shut. This had clearly been a mistake. Between the articles from Saturday and this, he had read enough Skeeter for a lifetime. Too much, rather.  
  
And why did she think he was into Viktor Krum? _Ron_ had been the one to gush over him. Though he was honestly surprised that Skeeter hadn’t written a chapter about him and Ron and “the forbidden romance between friends” - seeing as how she’d taken every other misinformed rumor and ran with it.  
  
_Wait_.  
  
He flipped it back open. But what the hell was “Lions and Snakes”? “Rich Boy meets Poor Girl” was clearly referencing Ginny, so what could she have said about his love life after that? They were still together when this book was published over a year ago now.  
  
He paged through the “Juicy Flings,” trying not to do more than scan the pages so as not to give himself a conniption, until he reached chapter seven. “Lions and Snakes.”  
  
He read the first few lines. Then, his face erupted into color. He raced on, devouring sentence after sentence. It had to be a prank.  
  
It _had_ to be.  
  
“_Fuck_. This better not be real.” 

  


Harry burst into Flourish and Blotts just as they were closing up for the night. Flinging the door wide, he ran up to the nearest bookseller - who was up on a ladder, sorting the last books to their places - and grabbed onto the rungs with a crazed desperation.  
  
The bookseller looked terrified. And rightfully so, Harry realized, as he imagined the scene from their perspective. From what they saw, the famed “Boy Who Lived” had just stormed into their establishment, panting, with wand out and manic eyes, still just standing there like a lunatic while he rehashed this all his mind. Harry decided to start over with a smile.  
  
It was the wrong move.  
  
He must really look a fright, as the bookseller slipped and nearly fell off the ladder in their haste to climb down and scramble away.  
  
“Erm, excuse me! I’m sorry, I need a book.”  
  
She blinked at him.  
  
“Um, it’s called _The Boy Who Lived: Loves, Lies, and_...err..._Loneliness_. It’s, um, a Rita Skeeter one.” It killed him to say.  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
“You’re Harry Potter,” she said at last.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And you want...Rita’s Skeeter’s biography..._of you?_”  
  
He groaned. “Yes, that’s right. I mean, I don’t _want_ it, but rather I need it to cross-reference something.”  
  
“Uh...huh.”  
  
He endured several more long silences and suspicious glances until the owner materialized - a surprisingly common occurrence whenever Harry entered a store - before he could leave with his book. They let him use their Floo, even though it was an odd request, and he tumbled back into his room at Hogwarts, already tearing at the pages in his haste to open it.  
  
No chapter seven.  
  
He almost fainted with relief. The world hadn’t read it - not that it mattered much now, after the news about the dance. But still.  
  
Since Skeeter hadn’t written it, that meant that _Draco_ must have added the section as a joke when he charmed the books in Harry’s office. And that meant that the absolute prat had written this over a month ago. Harry flushed, feeling really stupid as that sank in.  
  
He knew what his next stop would be.

  


“Malfoy!”  
  
Harry burst into the Slytherin common room, expecting them to still be hanging out there, but not expecting so many students to turn and gape at him as he entered. The Quidditch team and upperclassmen were congregated in the cluster of armchairs and couches by the fire. The first year that had let him in snuck away, trying not to be noticed.  
  
Draco looked up at him. He was sprawled across a couch, shot glass dangling from his fingers and utter confidence etched in every line of his relaxed body. With a flash of nostalgia, Harry realized at once that he had caught Draco in his natural habitat - smugly surrounded by everything Slytherin.  
  
It didn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat when they made eye contact.  
  
Draco smirked, seeming both surprised and amused to see him here.  
  
“Potter. Didn’t know you were so eager to celebrate Slytherin’s victory with us.”  
  
“We need to talk-” Harry stopped, realizing how a sentence like that would only cause more rumors. “You need to _explain_ something to me.”  
  
He waved the book in the air, while trying to conceal the title from the students.  
  
Draco’s eyes dawned with understanding, and a sly grin lit up his face. “Oh. _That_.” He slid to his feet, setting his glass down on the table. He met Harry’s eyes again. “With pleasure.”  
  
Several of the students booed, including the girl from earlier.  
  
“Malfoy, you can’t go! We were about to play Truth or Hex!” She was clearly drunk, like the rest of them.  
  
“I’m afraid I have to go. Potter needs me to explain a certain…” he glanced at him through the corner of his eye, “-_essay_ to him. Reading’s not his forte, unfortunately.”  
  
Harry wanted to punch him.  
  
(And then maybe make out.)  
  
“At this hour? You can do schoolwork tomorrow!”  
  
Draco was laughing now, the firewhisky making him looser and more calm. It had a dazzling effect. “Yes, well, _The Savior_ demands it, so I have no choice but to obey.” He waved goodbye, linking arms with Harry as he pulled him out.  
  
They took a few steps into the corridor before Harry spoke. “What, now I’m forcing you?” he grumbled.  
  
Draco ruffled his hair aggressively. “Don’t be a prat. You _did_ burst into Slytherin yelling for me. That’ll cause more rumors than me giving you a hard time - like _usual_ I might add.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I need you to explain _what the hell this is_,” Harry countered, waving the book in front of him. Draco only smirked, and Harry turned them curtly into his office, which was closer than his room.  
  
He shut the door and cast _muffliato_ before turning back to the blonde.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“Well, what?” Draco was biting at his lip to keep from laughing again.  
  
“You know what! _What the hell is this?_”  
  
“It’s a book, Potter.”  
  
Harry ground his teeth in frustration, flipping open to the section he had read about five times now. He started reading aloud:  
  
“_‘Lions and Snakes. Or, in other words, the year pure, wonderful, Boy-Who-Lived Savior, Harry Potter, spent stalking Draco Malfoy. From the moment they met, Potter nursed a fiery passion for the handsome, pureblood Slytherin that manifested itself in high-strung Quidditch matches and poorly-constructed comebacks which he used to get the other boy’s attention._  
  
“Boys will be boys” or mounting sexual tension at Hogwarts?  
  
By sixth year, Potter was rumored to be desperately in love with Malfoy, following him around with puppy-dog eyes at all hours - day and night. It is said that he even broke down and begged Malfoy to...to-’” Harry broke off, stuttering over the word, “-_to _fuck _him; anything to release him from the torment of his own, unrequited feelings. He even offered himself as a personal servant to Malfoy_-” Harry stopped again, his face blazing. “What, is this your fantasy or something? This shit goes on for four more pages!”  
  
Draco lounged against Harry’s desk with a cheshire grin, clearly relishing having made him read it aloud. “Why, do you want it to be?”  
  
“Don’t evade the question! _Why_ did you write this? And over a month ago too! We weren’t even…even-” He had no idea how to properly classify what they were doing, so he made a desperate, flailing gesture between them.  
  
Draco quirked a brow and thought it over for a moment. “Well, I knew you were extraordinarily dense.” He raised a hand to ward off Harry’s protestations. “And you’ve only proved that even more over this past month, don’t you dare deny it. So I thought I’d help plant the idea.”  
  
He tapped his fingers on the desk, and Harry couldn’t tell if it was a casual tic or if the inscrutable Slytherin was actually nervous.  
  
“I knew you’d flip when you read it. _If_ you read it,” he added, and Harry scowled. “And I honestly never thought you’d be interested. So I let it get a bit...imaginative.”  
  
“How long?”  
  
“Pardon?” The tapping paused.  
  
“How long have you...have you wanted to ‘fuck’ me?”  
  
He blinked several times, holding the tense stare. Then, Draco tilted his head back, closing his eyes with a strangled-sounding laugh. “Oh, Harry. That’s an unfair question.”  
  
Harry walked over, leaning across Draco to set the book on the desk.  
  
“One I’d like the answer to. Well?”  
  
Draco ghosted his hands over Harry’s hips, but he grabbed them by the wrist and gave the man a challenging glare.  
  
“So _touchy_. Here’s a question: how long have _you_ known?”  
  
“A few weeks,” he answered bluntly. “Now stop evading.”  
  
“Only a few weeks?”  
  
“You can’t distract me.”  
  
“Oh, but I can try.”  
  
Draco leaned in and kissed him, chuckling as Harry couldn’t resist kissing him back. _Fuck, the man was a Slytherin through and through_. He needed a new tactic.  
  
Harry released his hands and dropped to his knees in front of Draco.  
  
The blonde made a choking noise as Harry trailed his hands over the knees spread on either side of him. “You won’t tell me? Not even if I _beg?_”  
  
Draco’s pupils shot wide. Though pink dotted his cheeks, his eyes were hungry.  
  
“Fuck, Harry…” He swallowed. “Much longer than you. Don’t make me say it.”  
  
Harry shivered. Curiosity still burned inside him, but he was distracted by Draco’s reactions to him. The way his given name slid from Draco’s tongue was absolutely sinful. And pulling these different expressions from him was addicting.  
  
“Why? I won’t laugh.” He traced his fingers up Draco’s calf.  
  
“I’m not saying.”  
  
“Come on.” His hands followed the trouser seam to Draco’s inner thigh.  
  
The man sucked in an uneven breath. “Harry-”  
  
“How long?”  
  
“Harry, please-”  
  
His fingers stopped mercilessly short of the bulge now straining against Draco’s trousers - half out of nerves, half because he knew it would drive the blonde mad. He glanced up.  
  
Draco’s face was definitely red now. He was chewing at his lip and watching Harry with a helpless sort of expression.  
  
Harry wanted to laugh - to put him in his place for all the pranks and evasiveness - but he found he was too enraptured by those searing grey eyes to do anything but stare.  
  
The question sprang unbidden to his lips. “You want me to touch you?”  
  
Draco gasped. His eyes glinted with something that looked surprisingly like hope.  
  
“Yes,” he breathed.  
  
Maintaining eye contact, Harry slid his hand back up Draco’s thigh until he was cupping him above the fabric. Merlin, he was so hard. Harry gave his fingers an experimental slide up the man’s constrained length, and Draco hissed softly at the contact.  
  
Harry had never touched a dick - other than his own - and the feeling was marvelous. Even through the fabric, it was so responsive. He didn’t have to worry about whether or not Draco was into it, like he had with Ginny, as he could feel the way the man twitched and hardened against his palm instantaneously.  
  
He also heard the soft gasps emanating from Draco that were giving him goosebumps.  
  
Then, he was tearing at the trouser buttons and dragging down the fly. Draco sucked in a breath as Harry reached in and fisted his prick through his pants. He rubbed up and down, relieved to have lost a layer of fabric, but knowing it was still too much between them.  
  
Draco’s trousers were sagging around his hips still, and Harry felt compelled to lean in and kiss the exposed divet of his hip bone. At the contact, the blonde stiffened for a moment in surprise, then pressed into the touch, groaning as Harry’s lips trailed down the groove of his abdomen. He stopped when his lips reached the waistband, his fingers fumbling to part the front flap.  
  
Then Draco’s cock sprang free. It was beautiful - all graceful upward curve and pink glistening tip and- _fuck_, Harry was almost drooling. He wanted to _touch_ it. To _taste_ it.  
  
Draco seemed to misinterpret the way Harry had suddenly paused, because he rushed for words: “You don’t have to- I mean, only if you want to… I wasn’t expecting-” His hands were clutching the edge of the desk, nearly white with pressure.  
  
“Do you want me to?” Harry asked, his voice husky.  
  
Draco bit his lip. “Like I said, only if you want to - I’m not going to make you, just because I’m-”  
  
“Do you _want_ me to?” he repeated, cutting off the useless protestations.  
  
The blonde hissed in sudden, embarrassed annoyance. “Of course I bloody _want_ you to! I’ve wanted it for _years!_”  
  
Harry couldn’t help but pull back a fraction with the beginnings of a smirk. “How _many_ years?”  
  
Draco glared down at him, his cheeks pink. “None of your _damn_ business!” He gave Harry a playful shove. “Now shut up and suck my dick.”  
  
It was as if he’d been electrified. Harry felt his throat go dry, and his blood rushed south. He wanted Draco to say it again. To say more commanding things to him.  
  
The Slytherin must have caught his blush, because - quick as a flash - he was capturing Harry’s chin in his hand and tilting his head up to look him in the eye. “What, you like that, Potter?”  
  
Harry licked nervously at his lips. Excitement was roiling in his stomach, and under that smoldering grey gaze, he fumbled to respond coherently. “I...I mean-”  
  
Draco’s lip quirked up on one side, and Harry thrilled at the mischief that played in that smile.  
  
“Gloves, huh?” the blonde muttered quietly to himself. “It’s all starting to come together.”  
  
Before Harry could finish responding - or even begin to address _that_ new remark, Draco was parting his mouth with a thumb, dragging down his bottom lip as he pulled him forward towards his awaiting member.  
  
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” he heard Draco say as Harry’s mouth closed around his cock.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
I would say that I'm sorry for leaving y'all on a cliffhanger, but given that I'm a no-good, filthy cockblocking heathen, I'm really not. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this chapter! More fun to come next week.
> 
> xoxo


	15. So Many Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: explicit sexual content; oral sex; handjobs; homophobic/biphobic rhetoric

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”  
  
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t decide which was more arousing - the feel of Draco’s hard length against his lips or the low, amused tone with which the man spoke. Both were intoxicating.  
  
Either way, he was throbbing.  
  
Harry swirled his tongue around the tip, delighting in the way Draco squirmed against him. He gave an experimental suck, suddenly self-conscious about the fact that he had no idea what he was doing but wanted so desperately to do it right.  
  
Draco fisted his hair along his neck, and Harry nearly melted right there and then. The move was so natural, so possessive. But though confident and firm, Draco’s grip didn’t force him down any further than he chose. He didn’t ‘choke him on his cock’ - a thought that crossed Harry’s mind in both lust and terror, given his current, vulnerable position. Rather, Draco guided Harry’s head gently up and down, clutching at his neck every few moments with a tremor, but no moving force.  
  
Harry was thankful. As much as he had fantasized about rough sex with Draco - especially this past week - he knew that his first time with a man was probably not the proper moment to enact that. As it was, he struggled to find the proper rhythm of licking and sucking, relying on sheer enthusiasm and horniness to get him by.  
  
He bobbed his head deeper, accidentally spiking his gag reflex, and he pulled away to cough.  
  
Draco’s hands froze in his hair. “Are you okay?” The sudden eye contact was intense.  
  
Harry nodded quickly, feeling both embarrassed and guilty. “I’m fine.”  
  
_All he wanted was to make Draco feel good, and he was already botching it._  
  
“If it’s too much, we can stop - or try something else…”  
  
Harry shook his head, avoiding meeting Draco’s eyes. _Shit, he was awful at this_. “Just tell me what feels good,” he insisted, settling back between Draco’s thighs for another go.  
  
He took Draco in nearly to the hilt this time, marveling at the way the man gasped in surprise.  
  
“Fuck. _That_.” His hand settled back lightly on the nape of Harry’s neck. “_That_ feels good.”  
  
Harry groaned around his prick, mouth full. It was finally starting to sink in that he was sucking _Draco Malfoy’s_ cock. As in, former nemesis since age eleven, _Draco Malfoy_. As in, always needling him with snide comments and crude drawings in Potions class, _Draco Malfoy_. As in, spent sixth year acting so suspiciously that Harry had no choice but to track his name on the map late into every night, _Draco Malfoy_. As in, pointy-faced git with haunted eyes and a damned Dark Mark, but somehow still beautiful, _Draco Malfoy_.  
  
Enemy turned dear, dear obsession.  
  
His younger self would be outraged. The _world_ would be outraged. The gravity of that seemed like something he should care about. But all he could think was how hot it was that Draco’s cock twitched and trembled in time with the blonde’s soft little erotic sighs, and he never wanted to stop.  
  
Sweet Merlin, he never wanted to stop.  
  
Draco was watching him through dark, heavy-lidded eyes, his long fingers tangled in Harry’s hair. He tugged where there were no nerves, just sweet, sweet pressure that was driving Harry insane. As his eyes met Draco’s, he felt the other man quiver, hand dragging his head away.  
  
“Harry, I’m going to! I’m close-”  
  
Harry broke free from Draco’s grip and took him deep in his throat. He may not have done this before, but _by hell_, he was a Gryffindor.  
  
Draco shuddered, thrilling Harry with the way he clutched wildly at his neck, his hair, his shoulders. His muscles seized, and Harry could feel the man’s abs tighten where his scarred forehead lay flush against them.  
  
Draco’s cock contracted, and hot liquid poured down his throat. _Sweet Merlin_, Draco’s cum was inside him.  
  
He swallowed, acknowledging the feeling as new and strange, but also _dirty_ in a way that made him flush and groan. He wanted to remember everything about this moment, to catalog the exact feeling of Draco coming undone under his hands.  
  
And all he could keep thinking was: _I’ve just sucked Draco Malfoy’s dick.  
  
I’ve just sucked Draco Malfoy’s dick -  
  
And he came_.  
  
Harry _kept_ sucking until Draco began to soften, and he pushed him back gently.  
  
“_Bloody hell_, Harry.”  
  
He might have been concerned if he didn’t see the dazed pleasure still written across Draco’s face. The man was disheveled - lips pink and wet, cheeks red, hair falling in front of his eyes as he panted for breath. He looked thoroughly _debauched_, and that sent a strong surge of lust through Harry that reminded him of his own painful erection.  
  
“Was that okay?” he blurted without thinking. Blood rushed to his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to say it. He had meant to act cool and confident and say something daring like “Your turn, Malfoy.” _Damn, he sounded so_ virginal.  
  
Draco chuckled, his voice a little shaky. “No, you idiot. It was _awful_ \- that’s why I just came down your throat.” He tilted Harry’s chin up to face him, meeting his eyes honestly. “It felt amazing.”  
  
Harry shivered. This was perfect - kneeling between Draco’s legs, the blonde’s hand caressing his face, gazing up into those searing grey eyes. Being teased. He wanted it to last forever. But as the moment wore on, reality started flooding back. The blood had drained from his feet, and his knees were kind of sore; his neck was tired of straining.  
  
Draco seemed to sense the shift in mood, and grasped his elbow to help pull him to his feet. Harry rose, his body sliding against Draco’s lithe frame. He didn’t step away. At his full height once more, he was level with Draco, who, though taller, was still slouched against the desk.  
  
As he leaned in, the blonde quirked a smile. “What, can I help you with something?”  
  
For a terrifying moment, Harry thought he was actually going to leave him hanging, until Draco’s smile cracked into a warm laugh.  
  
“Merlin, your face. It was a joke.”  
  
Draco began tugging at Harry’s trousers, unbuttoning them with deft fingers, as he leaned in the rest of the way to kiss Harry. Without prelude, his hand slid into his pants and wrapped around his dick.  
  
The sensation was staggering; Harry grabbed at Draco’s shoulders for support. He blamed all that kneeling for the sudden weakness in his legs.  
  
Draco smirked against his lips, dragging his hand up and down his prick - lightly at first, then firmer as Harry leaned into him and moaned.  
  
“Do you want me to…” Draco’s eyes flicked downwards.  
  
Harry’s breath stuttered. The idea of Draco going down on him was intoxicating, but at the same time, he felt like if the blonde removed his hand right now, he would _actually die_.  
  
And if Draco blew him, he was scared he would cum as soon as his cock met his tongue.  
  
“Just keep...keep doing what you’re doing.”  
  
Draco chuckled, and the vibrations rumbled through Harry, who was practically clinging to him at this point. It felt so good. Draco’s hand - not so different in size or shape than Harry’s own - should not have felt so much better, so _electrifying_ as it ran up and down his length. Just the fact that it was _Draco’s_ made it terribly arousing - and distantly Harry worried at how much power the man had over him. Certainly more than he knew.  
  
Harry gasped as Draco’s fingers suddenly slid down further and toyed with his bollocks. The touch sent a wave of pleasure through him that he couldn’t hide, and then Draco was reaching down with his other hand to grasp him as his first massaged Harry’s perineum.  
  
Fuck, he was so hard. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that if he opened them - if he allowed himself to look at Draco’s long, blonde lashes, the jagged lines of his cheekbones, his swollen, pink lips - that would be the end. He wanted this to last.  
  
But Draco wouldn’t have that. “Harry, look at me.” He pressed harder, his hand working more quickly.  
  
He wanted to last-  
  
“Please, Harry.”  
  
The throaty plea forced his eyes open, and _hell_, Draco was so beautiful. It was all he could think, and then he was coming, coming, coming all over Draco’s hands, all over his clothes - spurting endlessly against his abdomen until he crumpled, wrecked, into the crook of Draco’s shoulder.  
  
He didn’t remember ever having cum so hard.  
  
After a long moment, Draco braced his sticky hand against Harry’s hip, which reminded him that they should probably clean up. He didn’t want to though - no, he’d much rather keep his head buried against Draco’s neck, their bodies flush and fluttering. But he didn’t know if that kind of intimacy was what Draco wanted. Maybe he was here for the sex and uninterested in the rest.  
  
Reluctantly, Harry drew away and reached for his wand. He cast the cleaning charms wordlessly, and despite his worries, he couldn’t stop a blush rising to his cheeks as the reality of the situation sunk in.  
  
Evidently, Draco was lost in these thoughts as well, because he murmured almost reverently, “Merlin. I’ve just jacked off _Harry Potter_.”  
  
“Oh, shut up-” Harry started.  
  
“In his _office_, no less.” Draco seemed wonderstruck.  
  
“Yeah, and I’ve just sucked off a former Death Eater - what would Skeeter say?” Harry joked, though he regretted it the instant a frown appeared on Draco’s face.  
  
After a moment’s consideration though, the frown melted back into a smirk. “You enjoy that, don’t you? That I’m some kind of pariah. I’ve decided you _like_ thinking I’m a dangerous criminal.”  
  
Harry blushed harder and refused to respond to that.  
  
“_Anyway_,” he coughed, “we should probably go back to our chambers. It’s late, and we have class tomorrow.” Merlin, he sounded like _Hermione_.  
  
But Draco simply grinned. “Of course, _Professor_.”  
  
Harry didn’t think his face could get more red.

  


Draco walked him back to his room, lingering at the doorway like he didn’t really want to leave. Harry didn’t really want him to either, but all of this was so new, and he didn’t want to mess it up by going too fast. And it was rather fast. Well, if he viewed this as something that had been building for almost eight years, then one could argue it was actually rather slow, but from the “realization” to the “acting-on-it” portion, it was definitely going fast.  
  
And he still needed to process the fact that he _had just sucked off Draco Malfoy_. He could still taste the bitterness in his mouth, and he wondered vaguely whether he’d ever not be aroused again.  
  
It was a lot to take in.  
  
After a few more lines of banter, Draco kissed him one more time - a little softer than usual - and then left. Harry stood at the door, watching him stride away until he turned the corner and went out of sight. Only then did he turn back into his chamber and shut the door.

  


The next morning, Harry woke giddy with excitement that he would get to see Draco again today. It was overwhelming, really - this happiness. He hadn’t felt so _good_ in a long time, and honestly, he didn’t quite know what to do about it. He rushed around his room, getting dressed in record time and then deciding it was too early to go down to breakfast, so he settled in on the couch with a book on gytrashes he was planning to reference in his first year class. Every time he glanced up at the old grandfather clock in the corner, however, it was only one minute past the time he had last looked.  
  
Eventually, though, he began to relax and take in the material. As a teacher, reading was rather necessary - something he hadn’t been looking forward to - but it surprised him that, at two months in, it had become a rather unexpected hobby as well.  
  
By the next time he looked up at the clock, he was late.  
  
Harry ran all the way down to the Great Hall, wishing - as he had many times in his life - that he could Apparate within Hogwarts. He burst through the double doors like a battering ram, and at the startled jump of several students, he slowed down a fraction and straightened his jumper before proceeding.  
  
By the time he made it to the staff table, Draco was hiding an amused grin behind his newspaper. “Potter.” He folded it and set it aside like usual. “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”  
  
Harry glanced down at the hand-knitted emerald jumper emblazoned with a large “H” on it. “Molly made it for me,” he said defensively, taking his seat. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”  
  
Draco snorted. “Well, combined with your electrocuted hair, you look like a veritable vagabond.”  
  
“A _what?_ Never mind. At least I know better than to put on a three piece suit to go play Quidditch in.”  
  
Draco leaned back in his chair, clearly relishing the argument. “Now, now, Professor Potter - you’ve _seen_ me in my Quidditch uniform. It’s all perfectly regulation - knee pads, elbow pads, _leather gloves_-”  
  
“Right!” Harry squeaked. “What’s for breakfast this morning?” he asked loudly.  
  
He ignored Draco’s wicked grin.  
  
“Also,” the blonde continued, as if Harry hadn’t just redirected the conversation, “you’ve got lint. Right there. That’s another thing wrong with your attire today. Doesn’t really exude professionalism, that.”  
  
Harry scowled and glanced around where he was pointing. “Where? Get it.”  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Draco plucked the lint from his shoulder, earning a puzzled look from Slughorn on his other side. _Shit_. He really shouldn’t be asking Draco to touch him so casually in public. It was asking for trouble (and, of course, more horrible news articles).  
  
With trepidation, Harry glanced around the hall and noticed a good many students watching them already. _Fuck_. Today would be his first round of classes since Friday night’s Ball, and he wasn’t looking forward to fielding any of the awkward, inevitable questions.  
  
“No chance they’ve all just forgotten the articles, is there?” Harry muttered to Draco despondently.  
  
Draco snorted. “Juicy articles about The Boy Who Lived taking place within our good castle walls? Unlikely.” He gave Harry a calculating look, sobering. His voice was quiet. “Why, would you rather no one knew?”  
  
Harry didn’t know if he was referencing his sexuality or the fact that everyone saw him with Draco in particular. Either way, it felt like a thin line to walk in his answer. “I would rather people didn’t make such a big deal out of my life,” he said earnestly, letting a bit of the exhaustion he constantly felt show in his voice.  
  
It wasn’t quite what he had asked, but Harry figured it was the best he could give for now. Especially since he still _was_ uncomfortable with people knowing - knowing about both his sexuality _and_ his involvement with Draco. It added layers of complexity whose mere existence threatened this new, flighty _thing_ between them. A _thing_ he very much wanted to let develop naturally.  
  
“Yes, well,” Draco said with a slight smile, “since we both know that’s not going to happen, we might as well make the most of it. For example, I’m learning all sorts of new things about you - like how you ‘_became_ gay due to your lack of father figure.’”  
  
Harry sprayed pumpkin juice across the table. He coughed several times. “What the _hell_, Malfoy?”  
  
“Oh, come now, Potter - it shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise. After all, you had a whole interview about it - see, you’re quoted right here.” He tapped a passage about halfway down the page, looking smug. To Harry's horror, he began reading aloud.  


‘Yes, I do think it affected my upbringing,’ Potter said, eyes characteristically gleaming with the ghosts of his past. ‘If I’d had a dad to play ball with - it’s a Muggle thing,” he explained, ‘I wouldn’t have felt myself tending towards feminine passivity and overbearing female friends,’ he said - an obvious reference to the famed Hermione Granger.

Seething, Harry took a bite of his toast to keep himself from hexing someone.

‘I’m gay - I admit it. I’ve been living in sin.’ Potter broke down crying. ‘My father would be so ashamed of me.’

"Shall I go on? It really delves into your ‘appropriated electra complex’ on page seven."

Harry fought not to throttle him. “Drink your damn tea, Malfoy.”

“Ooooh!” he crowed. “The Savior is defensive about his ‘bruised and twisted psyche’! She must be onto something.” He stirred his tea with a smirk playing about his lips. “Really, Harry, you ought to lighten up. After all, the articles are only going to get worse from here on out.”

“Yeah, well what about you? How would you like it if I read articles like-” he grabbed _The Prophet_ and paged manically through it, “Hah! I knew it. How would you like it if I read you excerpts of ‘**THE MALFOYS - A FAMILY OF DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS’**? Like...like-” having never read it, he dove right into the first sentence: 

‘The son of the maniacal and influential Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, has just been excommunicated and cut off from the family vaults after coming out as homosexual - and for none other than our Wizarding Savior, Harry Potter!”

He stopped. Though his voice had begun strong and scathing, it had trailed off as the sentence wore on. Something was squeezing at his chest.

He didn’t continue aloud, though his eyes skated over the rest.

In an unprecedented move Friday night, Draco Malfoy predatorily forced The Boy Who Lived into a public dance with him at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Though many classmates claim that he has always harbored inappropriate feelings for our Gryffindor hero, others suspect foul play, which his aptitude for potion brewing (poison brewing?) can only support. While his mother, Narcissa Malfoy refrained from commenting, Lucius has publicly denounced his son, and refuses to budge on the matter until Draco ‘agrees to conduct himself less shamefully and make serious amends for besmirching the family name.’ After misplaced alliances during the war, and this latest hit to their reputation, how much further can the name of ‘Malfoy’ fall?

Harry looked up at Draco, guilt writhing in his stomach. He felt sick.

The humor had fallen from Draco’s face, his jaw clenched and set. But as Harry looked up at him, he raised a haughty brow. “By all means, Potter, tell me something funny about it. I’ve been looking for a bright side for hours.”

Harry swallowed. “You didn’t tell me you were cut off,” he said stupidly. He blinked several times and rubbed his face. “_Merlin_. You told me they took it okay!”

Draco smiled sardonically, stirring his tea again. Adding more sugar to disguise the slight tremor in his fingers. Harry saw it though and felt ten times worse.

“I didn’t say ‘okay.’ I said ‘not great - but nothing I couldn’t handle.’”

“_This_ is handling it?” Harry shook the paper in his face weakly.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need you _mothering_ me, Potter. It’s not like we’re-...It’s not like we’re _friends_.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Something in Harry’s chest was twisting, grabbing his organs and twisting them tight.

“Right. We aren’t, are we?” He heard his voice as if from a distance. “My mistake.”

He got up from the table, shoving the rest of his toast in his mouth - the bread tasting like nothing, tasting like ash.

“I’ve got to prepare for class.”

This time, Draco didn’t call after him.

  


Harry was in a foul mood for his classes, which was only amplified by students whispering whenever his back was turned and looking away whenever he made eye contact. After enduring several hours of this, he finally broke down in his fourth-year class when one student “accidentally” called him “Professor _Ponce_\- oh wait, I mean Potter!”  
  
He heaved a sigh. Why did he always have to deal with so much shit? He had lived through the Dursleys and a war and the literal soul of Voldemort inside him, and now he was getting made fun of by children. He was only _twenty_ for fuck’s sake.  
  
“Alright everyone, books down. Wands as well.”  
  
The tension in the room was charged, as some complied with worry and others with sneers.  
  
“Everyone listening? Okay. Now you’re going to ask me all your questions directly instead of whispering them to each other and speculating. I’m going to take this time to respond as best I can, so get everything you want to say out of the way now, because this is the _only_ class time I’m going to waste on this. Are we clear?”  
  
He knew this was probably unwise, but frankly, he was tired of people skirting around him. It would be much better to just face the rumors and biases head-on.  
  
“And we can ask _anything?_” one student piped up.  
  
“Sure,” Harry said evenly. “Though I’ll choose whether I answer or not. Who’s first?”  
  
There was a long silence as the students looked around, gauging who would be brave enough to start. Time ticked on.  
  
“Are you a _poof?_” one boy burst out when the silence became a sound of its own.  
  
The class sat in shocked expectancy.  
  
_What a way to start_, he thought. Harry took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes before answering. “I think the term you’re looking for is ‘gay,’ John. And no, I’m not.”  
  
He could just leave it there, and the world would be none the wiser. It would be so much easier - but it would also brand him a coward and a liar. He braced himself.  
  
“I’m bisexual.”  
  
He let the word sit in the air for several moments, before the reporter’s misconceptions flowed into his mind, urging him on. “And that doesn’t mean I’m gay and ashamed; it doesn’t mean I’m straight and want attention. It doesn’t mean I like _threesomes_-”  
  
Some girls burst into nervous laughter at that.  
  
“I don’t chase after every single person that I meet - everyone has a ‘type’ no matter which gender - or genders - they’re interested in.” He took a deep breath. “For me, it just means that I like some women, and I also like some men,” he thought of what Hermione had told him when he came out, “and it’s okay. It’s _okay_ to be bi or gay, to like who you like.”  
  
There was an awed silence following his monologue. Then, a girl spoke up hesitantly.  
  
“And is Mister Malfoy who you like?”  
  
Harry tried to stem the blush that rose unbidden to his face. He cleared his throat. “That’s my business,” he managed, though he was sure the answer was obvious. Even when he was hurt and angry at Draco, he couldn’t help liking the git.  
  
Even if he didn’t want to be _friends_.  
  
“But he was a Death Eater, wasn’t he?” another kid asked tentatively.  
  
Harry met his eyes and smiled sadly. “People change. And some people aren’t given many choices to begin with.”  
  
“What was the Battle like?”  
  
The sudden turn in conversation caught him by surprise.  
  
“My parents pulled me out of school that year, saying it wasn’t safe. That I was too young.” The boy, Sam, who usually acted out, was uncharacteristically serious.  
  
Harry considered the question for a long moment. He hadn’t talked about the war in a long time - it was something people specifically avoided talking about around him, in fact. It had been long enough that he couldn’t even remember the sort of answers he used to give.  
  
“It was...fast. Not actually _fast_, I mean, every second was torturous and terrifying, but we were running around and caught up in defending ourselves and trying to figure out a plan - there was no time to think.” He frowned. “Well, not until later.”  
  
Harry glanced up and saw the students wide-eyed and intent on listening. Perhaps the war haunted them all too, though in a different way. He remembered being fourteen and hating when adults thought he didn’t understand things.  
  
“I worried that I wouldn’t be strong enough to defeat Voldemort.” Many of the students recoiled at his name. “I worried that he would kill my friends in front of me. Mainly, I worried about my friends getting hit with stray spells while they were focused on other things, like...Like _Fred Weasley_ was.” He could hear his voice waver over the name, threatening to break. But his students were listening to him. For the first time so far - _really_ listening.  
  
He continued. “The Battle was like a home-coming, but instead of comfort, everything was broken. But it had all started here, so I knew it would end here too. Even if it wasn’t meant to, I would have ended it here. I had been on the run for so long, fighting off his followers, seeking clues in the shadows - I was tired of it. It would be the final showdown, because I had nothing left in me to go on if it continued. I was ready to die that night, because that meant it would finally be over.”  
  
His eyes refocused after a few moments, and he startled to see one girl crying. It compelled him a curious way.  
  
“Being ‘the chosen one’ wasn’t good or bad or heroic or damning - it just _was_. It was my reality. And so now you all can see why it doesn’t matter to me whether someone likes boys or girls or both; there are _real_ evils out there that exist and gain power if we let them. Any time wasted trying to control others is just that - wasted time.”  
  
After a moment staring intensely into the classroom, he whipped off his glasses and began cleaning them on his jumper. “Any other questions?”

  


When his last few students had filed out after class, he heard a light tapping at the door. Harry glanced up to see Draco peeking in with an uncomfortable look on his face.  
  
“Is it alright if I come in?”  
  
Harry took the moment to really look at him. Not ogle him, or remember the way he had looked pressing against him, but simply to observe how he appeared right now. His hair wasn’t groomed with the care it normally was and fell lankly across his forehead. Once he noticed that, it wasn’t long before his eyes took in the dark smudges under Draco’s eyes - had he not been sleeping? Though he still looked swank and tidy, his shirt cuffs were folded a little off, causing them to bunch oddly about his wrists.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Draco sighed in relief and closed the door behind him.  
  
“Are you okay?” Harry asked before he could help himself.  
  
The blonde man glanced up in surprise. “Yes - why?”  
  
“You look…” Harry struggled to find a delicate way to word it that wouldn’t cause the man to blow up and run off. “-a bit _mussed_.”  
  
Draco blinked owlishly at him.  
  
“Not in a bad way!” he tried.  
  
The Slytherin shook his head with a slight chuckle. “No, no, pardon me - I’m still just in shock that you used the word ‘mussed.’”  
  
Harry blushed. “I know words, Draco.”  
  
His lip quirked up. “And what an _eloquent_ way to use them.”  
  
Draco stepped into the room and leaned against a desk facing Harry. “Anyway, I wanted to talk.” He frowned. “Well, to apologize.”  
  
Harry tried to conceal his shock, but a startled “_You?_” slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.  
  
Draco winced. “Yes. _Me_.” He heaved a sigh. “I was being a prat earlier, and I didn’t mean to be.”  
  
“Yes, you were. Being a prat.” Harry felt flustered, unsure what to do with an _apologizing_ Malfoy.  
  
Draco rubbed at his mouth before answering. “I know. And I’m sorry about it - I just… I don’t want to ruin things, but I just… It’s hard for me to talk about my family.”  
  
Harry thought of what he knew of the Malfoys in combination with what Neville had mentioned about the strict pureblood expectations. Even knowing only a fraction, he could understand why it would be hard.  
  
“I get that,” he said. “And you don’t have to tell me about it yet. I mean, if you want to at all at some point! But I’d like to know what’s going on if possible so I can help you. Or just listen. Sometimes having someone just _listen_ can help.” He thought of his class today.  
  
Draco stared at him for a long moment before covering his eyes and groaning. “_Fuck_, you really are the Golden Boy, aren’t you?” He peeked through his long fingers. “I’m a dick to you, and then you go and offer me _emotional support_.” Harry swore he could see some pink coloring Draco’s cheeks.  
  
“It’s okay,” he said with a slight smile, “you’ve always been a dick - it’s my own fault if I like it.”  
  
Harry gently pulled Draco’s hand away from his face and held it in his own. He was terrified that Draco would pull away or point out how cheesy he was being, but to his relief, he did neither. Instead, he glanced from Harry’s eyes down to their interlaced fingers, and a warm, relieved expression softened his face.  
  
And as Harry’s chest swelled with affection, and his heart thumped in his chest, he realized that the feeling blooming within him was not _only_ sexual anymore.  
  
It was enthralling. It was so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I see you've survived the week of cliffhanging. Hope it was worth the wait. 
> 
> I also wanted to let you all know that this story is going to keep going for a while yet - it's not one that ends right after the "game is up" and they've confessed their feelings; I plan to take it through the early trials and tribulations of their relationship, so I hope you will stick with me through to the end. I've written a signficant amount already, so I just wanted to drop that info here, so no one peaces out early by mistake. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and I'll see you next week!
> 
> xoxo


	16. One and a Half Slytherins

“Let’s talk.”  
  
Spurred to bravery by the warmth of the moment, Harry had said it before he chickened out. He wanted to know Draco better. There was so much he didn’t understand about the man, so much he wished he knew.  
  
Draco glanced up at him, a bit taken aback. “About what?”  
  
“Everything,” Harry said, knowing it was cheesy and horrible, but saying it nonetheless. “I want to get to know you better.”  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow, looking a little destabilized. “Are you...asking me on a date, Potter?”  
  
Harry reddened. _Was he?_ Was that when people usually talked and got to know one another? In dating Ginny, whom he’d known since childhood, he felt like they’d just skipped all that.  
  
But he’d known Draco since childhood too. So why was he suddenly longing to hear all of the Slytherin’s inner feelings?  
  
“Yes.” He decided. “Yes, I am.”  
  
The blonde’s eyes widened, and then he was laughing, but it was a light and pleased sound. “Alright, I’ll bite. What does Our Wizarding Savior have in mind? Where does the grand Harry Potter take his dates?”  
  
Scowling, Harry shoved at him, breaking their handhold. “I don’t know, you arse. Where does His Pureblood Prattishness like to be courted?”  
  
Draco smiled, tapping his temple in mock thought. “Well, you can never go wrong with Madam Puddifoot’s,” he joked.  
  
At least, he _hoped_ he was joking. Harry thought of his last trip there on the double date with Ginny. It made him feel moderately ill. “You can _definitely_ go wrong with Madam Puddifoot’s. How about somewhere else?”  
  
That drew another laugh from Draco. “Alright, how about we go to The Three Broomsticks on Saturday, and we can hit up Honeydukes after?”  
  
Harry smiled. “Sounds perfect.” 

  


The next day, Harry taught his class with an unusual vigor, spontaneously deciding to teach the third years the summoning charm. It was a bit early for them, but he also wished he’d known it earlier, so he figured it couldn’t hurt.  
  
“_Accio_ pinecone!”  
  
The object whizzed into his hand, and the students crowed with delight. He was glad he had taken them outside for this lesson; despite the slight chill in the air, it would likely be one of the last nice days of fall. And he had long thought it a shame that Quidditch and Care of Magical Creatures were the only classes to utilize the picturesque grounds.  
  
In other words, he was beginning to realize he could use his classes as a sort of belated wish-fulfillment.  
  
“Now try summoning something small at first,” he said. “The bigger things are harder to move with magic, especially if they’re farther away.”  
  
“Will I be able to summon something from a different _country_ someday?” one student asked.  
  
Harry smiled, amused. “Maybe not another _country_, but if you get good, you can summon things from pretty far.”  
  
“What about you? Do something far!”  
  
He laughed, pointing towards the Divination Tower. “_Accio_ horrid paisley pillow!”  
  
They shouted excitedly as it came hurtling through the sky a minute later.

  


Saturday was taking forever to arrive, and by midweek, his excitement was turning into desperate anticipation. He had seen Draco around as usual - at meals and chance encounters throughout the castle - but it certainly wasn’t enough after their night in his office. Despite his longing for the man, however, Harry was strangely reticent to initiate anything sexual again before their date. Like it was a self-imposed test to see if they were capable of being more than a passing hookup. Like it just _felt right_ to wait until they had talked more.  
  
Like it would make it that much better the next time.  
  
Harry was languishing so much that by the time dueling club came around, he was actually _looking forward_ to it - a first - since it meant he got to see Draco again. Before he walked to the meeting, he even found himself primping in the mirror - seeing if any brush or spell could make his hair lie flat. It didn’t. Without Hermione’s secret knowledge, it was a lost cause.  
  
Harry got to dueling club early and regretted it when Flitwick felt compelled to make passive-aggressive small talk while they waited for others to show up; he couldn’t tell whether the man was disappointed in him because he had been flaky in his teaching commitments or because of all the terrible press about him over the past few days. Likely, it was both.  
  
Draco appeared right on time. He apparently always did - apart from when he was making some dramatic entrance. Harry reproached him with his eyes for leaving him alone in this cloying conversation for so long. And while unclear whether he failed to read Harry’s sour look, or simply ignored it, Draco breezed by and took his position next to a very dubious Flitwick.  
  
“Mister Malfoy? I see you’ve joined us again.” The question was evident in his voice.  
  
“Yes, Professor. You see, I was actually the one urging Professor Potter here to resurrect the club. Unfortunately, I’ve had other matters to attend to these past few meetings and haven’t been able to help out like I promised.” Draco’s tone was coolly polite and dissuaded undermining.  
  
Harry was tempted to mention that he had actually thought of resurrecting the club, and Draco had simply agreed to it. But as much as he wanted to needle the blonde man, he didn’t _actually_ want to side with Flitwick on the matter.  
  
“Oh. I see,” the charms professor forced out.  
  
“I was thinking that today we could teach them how to incorporate silencing charms in combat, to prevent blocking spells and countercurses,” Draco added, pushing his luck even further. He knew he was being a bastard too, if the hint of smugness was any indication.  
  
Flitwick blustered. “Of-of course. I was planning to do that today anyway. I’ve had my fifth year students practicing the silencing charm, and I’ve already gone over with _them_ how useful it can be in various scenarios. But naturally, it would be helpful to share my lesson with the younger members as well, if they’re capable of performing it, that is…”  
  
“Great. That’s settled then.” Draco caught Harry’s eye over the other professor’s head and winked.  
  
He felt his chest flutter. Then, he tried to hide his smirk at the raw indignation Draco had drawn from Flitwick - the man was practically fuming out his ears. _Merlin_, dating a Slytherin was going to be Harry’s moral undoing.  
  
_If_ they were dating, that is.  
  
When enough students had gathered, Flitwick launched into his long-winded description of the silencing spell and the proper wand movement to cast it. For most of it, Harry zoned out, feeling much like a student in Charms class again. However, he paid attention to the side effects of casting it _wrong_, as he had always found them hilarious.  
  
“-so, in summary, if you fail to properly curve and flick your wand during the incantation, your target will swell up like a dirigible plum and squawk deafeningly. It’s bad enough to deal with one mis-charmed target, so take care with your spellcasting, so we don’t end up with a room of inflated, shrieking animals.”  
  
He clapped his hands together and summoned some cages of toads to the front. Everyone younger than fifth year came up and got one to practice on until he approved them for human testing. The fifth through seventh years were directed to form pairs and practice on each other – but _carefully_.  
  
Harry stood there, unsure what to do with himself until Flitwick cleared his throat and gestured to him.  
  
“Professor Potter, a demonstration if you please?”  
  
“Sure, what do you-”  
  
“_Silencio!_”  
  
Harry felt the rest of the sound ripped from his mouth. In startled silence, he worked his jaw, trying to get the words out. _Hell_. That had been completely unfair.  
  
The students laughed at his flustered expression and turned to their partners with mischief in their eyes. Several of them cast, their success marked by the sudden thinning of conversation in the room.  
  
Flitwick lifted the charm.  
  
“-_Really_ Professor?” Harry managed, coughing a few times to regain his dignity.  
  
A smile tugged at the corner of his mustached lip. “Blocking-curses exist, Professor Potter. As Moody would say: ‘_constant vigilance_.’” He turned away with a swish and started making rounds to see if anyone needed help.  
  
“Well, that was smooth,” Draco said with a snort. “You really know how to look poised in front of a classroom.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Isn’t that kind of the point of this club meeting?” Draco lounged against a desk with a gleam of challenge in his eye. “_Make_ me.”  
  
A thrill of excitement shot through Harry. There was nothing as bewitching as Draco standing there - looking _gorgeous_ \- saying insolent things to him. It made him want to-  
  
Well, it made him want to do things that were inappropriate to do in front of a classroom of students.  
  
“_Silencio_,” he breathed.  
  
Draco blocked with a flick of his wand. He didn’t move from his relaxed position against the desk either.  
  
“Really, _Professor_ \- at this rate, you’ll never be a dueling champion.”  
  
The barb drove him a step forward. “Maybe I don’t want to fight you,” he said, voice lofty with false pacifism.  
  
Draco looked him up and down and laughed. “Please. You always want to fight me.”  
  
With Draco lounging against the desk, and him only a few steps away, Harry was suddenly reminded of the last time they were in this position over the weekend. Draco’s legs spread, Harry tucked between. The small gasps of pleasure wrought from his mouth.  
  
Blood rushed to his face, and he tried to hide the onslaught behind a splayed hand.  
  
Realization dawned in Draco’s eyes, and he smirked like Slytherin had just won the House Cup. To Harry’s torment, he uncrossed his legs and stretched them out like he was making room for him.  
  
He stared at those long legs until common decency screamed that he was still in public. Harry bit his cheek and snapped his gaze away.  
  
“Fuck you, Draco,” he muttered under his breath.  
  
The blonde just grinned and grinned and grinned.

  


Saturday arrived, and with it, all of Harry’s excitement and panic rolled into one. He was eager - _delighted_ really - to be taking Draco on a date into Hogsmeade. They would finally be able to sit down and talk and kindle this spark flaring between them.  
  
On the other hand, however, the very nature of a date - namely, going into public - was bound to be a shitstorm. If reporters had mobbed Harry for taking one step outside of Hogwarts’ wards, he was sure they’d be _eaten alive_ for appearing in Hogsmeade together. They’d have been better off choosing a romantic stroll through the Forbidden Forest than this.  
  
But therein lay the issue - on school grounds, they were always at risk of being spotted. Even the thought of something innocuous like reaching for Draco’s hand made his skin prickle with the feeling of being watched - by either students _or_ staff. As they were both teachers, they were expected to maintain a certain level of professionalism in their work, only at a boarding school like Hogwarts, there was no separation between “work” and “personal life.” They couldn’t even rest easy meeting in private chambers, as students could knock on the door at any time.  
  
No, they needed to meet somewhere other than Hogwarts. And, moreover, this date still felt like a litmus test of whether this _thing_ they had could turn out to be more. From their conversation about the first article, Draco had seemed more paranoid about Harry’s _reaction_ to the slander than the articles themselves. He was clearly worried that Harry wasn’t willing to endure the gossip in order to be seen with him. Therefore, it was up to Harry to prove him wrong.  
  
Even though, in truth, he was terrified.  
  
Things he had been brave about in the past, like fighting Voldemort, weren’t translatable to fighting the press - Skeeter played a different game entirely. When the war was starting, he could just ignore the accusations in the news under the hopes that the ‘good side’ would eventually retake the press and clear up any and all false information. With topics like Harry’s bisexuality, however, ignoring the slander and speculation would only permit it to grow - and grow more biased over time.  
  
And it was such a deeply personal topic too; he really didn’t want people to know about who he was sleeping with in the first place. But through explaining and defending himself, it would inevitably be revealed. That was why “coming out” was so unfair - the only way to gain any semblance of respect for your choices was to sacrifice your privacy.  
  
Harry knew he would have to confront the press at some point, but he still didn’t know the best way. 

  


At noon - their designated time - Draco knocked on his door. Harry flung it open, trying not to seem like he had been pacing by the entryway for the past twenty minutes, when, in fact, he had.  
  
Draco looked stunning. He wore sleek, slate-colored trousers that matched the color of his eyes and a loose, white collared shirt that was casually tucked in. A light coat was tossed over his shoulder.  
  
In comparison, Harry felt much like a toad that had been stuffed into a jumper and jeans - even if they were his nicest pair. He pulled self-consciously at a string coming off his wrist.  
  
“You look...good,” he managed, gulping.  
  
Draco smirked. “You as well, Harry. In a ‘charming urchin’ kind of way.”  
  
Harry scowled and closed the door behind him.  
  
“So we’re going by Floo, you say?” Draco continued, as if he hadn’t just insulted him.  
  
“That’s right. I figured it would be less conspicuous than leaving from Hogwarts, skipping hand-in-hand or whatever.”  
  
Draco raised a brow. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I should tell you up front that I don’t _skip_. May that be the first thing you learn about me on this date.”  
  
His teasing tone and the confident way in which he called it a “date” had Harry’s heart stammering. “Oh, that’ll change for sure,” he countered. “Don’t you know that we Gryffindors are required to skip everywhere we go?”  
  
The blonde rolled his eyes at the sarcasm, then sobered after a moment. “I was a bit surprised. I didn’t realize you had gotten permission to use the Floo. Though, I suppose it makes sense that McGonagall wouldn’t offer me that privilege - I don’t have a great history with letting people into the castle.”  
  
With a pang, Harry remembered the painful events of sixth year. It seemed unreal that today, going on four years later, the circumstances between him and Draco had changed so drastically. Harry could remember his feelings from that time: the _obsession_, the suspicion - but also the hatred. He had _hated_ Draco for his bullying and biases, but most of all, he had hated that he had sided with Voldemort. There had been something so gut-wrenching about confirming that at the Astronomy Tower that night. It had felt so final - that _this_ was not some petty act that could be brushed off; they could no longer fall back into the familiar roles of schoolboy nemeses.  
  
They were on opposite sides of a war.  
  
That shocking truth had cut through any triumph he had felt about being right.  
  
But looking at the man in front of him now - dressed for a date with Harry himself - he couldn’t summon any of that hatred that had weighed him down for so long. This was a person who had endured horrors, made all the wrong choices, and yet somehow survived it all to stand here before him, redeemed. This was a man who rolled up his sleeves in class to show his Dark Mark as a warning and regret and acceptance all at once. He was the one who had noticed Harry’s spiraling depression and wanted him to eat.  
  
Perhaps Harry had never been right about him after all.  
  
“It’s okay, Harry,” Draco said when the moment had gone on too long. “I’m not bitter about it - it makes perfect sense.”  
  
Harry looked at him seriously, resting a hand on his shoulder lightly. “I think that if you asked her, Minerva would give you permission too.”  
  
Draco smiled a bit sadly. “And I think that you are a relentless optimist.”  
  
He thought it over a moment longer. “No, I really think she would. But it also feels like something you have to find the courage to ask about first. Some things are just like that...like the Sorting Hat.”  
  
“‘Like the Sorting Hat?’ Why the hat?” He looked genuinely confused.  
  
“Well, you know… Because it takes your choice into consideration.”  
  
“It does?”  
  
Harry scratched at the back of his head, strangely out of his depth once he finally found something about wizarding culture that Draco didn’t already know. “Yeah, I mean, it was stuck between Gryffindor and Slytherin for me, so I asked it to put me in Gryffindor. I was told that happens sometimes.”  
  
Draco looked thunderstruck. “_Wait_. You mean to say...that all this time, you- you could’ve been in _Slytherin?_”  
  
Harry felt an awkward blush creeping up his neck at the intensity of Draco’s gaze. “Err, I suppose.”  
  
“Fucking _hell_.” Draco rubbed at his face. He seemed to need a moment to process that. “Slytherin, huh? Fuck. This simultaneously makes no sense and perfect sense. You always were a sneaky bastard. And the parseltongue-” He sighed. “I should have known… Things would’ve been so different if you had been a Slytherin.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
It was Draco’s turn to blush and avert his gaze. “Never mind.”  
  
Harry smiled. “Yeah, well, I would’ve been even sneakier if I’d been a Slytherin. I don’t know if you’d like that so much.”  
  
“Sneakier than hiding the fact that you were almost a Slytherin for nine years? Let’s face it - the Hat made the wrong call.”  
  
They both laughed, and in the comfortable moment that followed, Harry prepared the Floo powder.  
  
“You ready?”  
  
He didn’t just mean for the travel - they were about to face an intangible, relentless monster. The public.  
  
Draco squared his shoulders a bit, running a hand through his perfect hair and nodding.  
  
“I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. It's been a crazy week, but I hope you all had a nice holiday (if you're in the U.S.)!
> 
> As I was editing this, I was amazed in realizing that this chapter didn't really have anything to write a warning about (especially after the canoodling last chapter). Life is mysterious. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading. 
> 
> xoxo


	17. That First Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: mild teasing and making out in public; references to trauma/the war

With a burst of green flames, Harry stepped into The Three Broomsticks - Draco just a step behind him. Instinctively, he ducked into a booth in the back corner, pulling Draco along before people could start to notice who they were. As it was a Saturday, and in the middle of the lunch rush, general chaos and noise filled the pub; he only noticed a few raised brows in their direction.  
  
Draco slid into the seat across from him. “Rather covert operation,” he laughed. “You really should have been an Auror.”  
  
Harry scrunched his brow. “Yeah, maybe. I mean, it really did hurt to turn Kingsley down. But I think the break from all the action did me good - even if it bloody well drove me mad at the same time.”  
  
Draco looked at him curiously, seeming to gauge how much he should ask. How far this “openness” Harry had promised him would extend. He hung his coat on the peg jutting out from the end of the booth. “Why _did_ you turn him down?”  
  
He paused as a waitress stopped by their table, gasping as she realized who they were. “Aren’t you-”  
  
“Hungry?” Harry cut in. “Very. We’ll take some fish and chips and two pints of butterbeer, please.”  
  
Draco raised a brow at him.  
  
He coughed, losing some of his gusto. “Erm, anything else, Draco?”  
  
“Shepherd’s pie.”  
  
The waitress nodded, still seemingly in shock, and headed away to place the order. After a ten count, he didn’t hear a stampede of reporters, so he supposed they were safe for now.  
  
“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. “I was just trying to distract her from alerting the whole pub.”  
  
Draco smirked. “That’s alright. But next time, at least order a non-fried thing. I don’t want to smell like a _commoner_.” He folded a napkin into his lap. “Anyway - the Auror position?”  
  
“Right.” Harry rested his chin on his hand, pondering. “I suppose I felt like everything was going too fast. Like I’d just spent a year on the run, hiding in forests and trying to stay alive. Then I get back, spend time in this enormous battle, and then _bam_ \- it’s over. Voldemort-” he noticed Draco still flinched at the name, “-is finally defeated - at great personal and communal loss - and my whole purpose as some ‘savior’ is done too. So we celebrate. We mourn. Then all of a sudden, weeks have passed, and it still doesn’t feel real, but people are now offering me jobs and expecting me to be in a mental state to take them. Like I’ll just be eager and ready for the next thing in line - not like my whole childhood culminated in this _one event_ that’s closed and over and done with, and nothing else is left.” He met Draco’s gaze with a sardonic smile. “It really messes with your self identity, you know?”  
  
Harry searched Draco’s eyes, hoping he wasn’t revealing too much too soon. That he wasn’t dousing this spark by piling his baggage on top of it. He sought understanding in those grey depths.  
  
Draco looked away first, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “Well it’s not like I can’t relate. To feelings of aimlessness after the war.”  
  
“Yeah?” he asked. “What did _you_ do after the war? These past few years.” It was so rare that Draco opened up about himself.  
  
A frown tightened his face. “I… Well, first off, I dealt with the trials and their aftermath.” He glanced up at Harry with what seemed to be great effort, forcing himself to continue. “In fact, I never thanked you for coming to testify at my trial. I...I don’t think I appreciated it as much at the time, but I can see how you saved me a much more painful sentence.”  
  
He could tell how much it obliterated Draco’s pride to admit this to him. Harry could imagine how much it must have frustrated him back then - to not only have dealt with traumas of serving Voldemort for so long, but also needing his _enemy_ to testify for him at his trial. It was humiliating. It _had been_ humiliating. And that price had been part of his punishment.  
  
Harry recalled the cold, grey eyes staring at him from the chair in Court Ten.  
  
“Don’t mention it,” he said thickly. “It was the right thing to do.”  
  
Draco quirked a small smile. “Well, I don’t know about _that_. But still - thank you.”  
  
Their pints arrived, and Draco took a hearty swig of butterbeer before continuing. “So I got sentenced to eighteen months without using any magic. I lived at home for a while to sort out my mess of a family... That turned out to be a horrible mistake.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I ended up leaving after about nine months and found a job. Several, actually.”  
  
“You left home?” The thought was oddly shocking - Harry hadn’t heard of purebloods _ever_ really leaving their estates, aside from marriage. “What did your parents think?”  
  
Draco heaved a sigh and toyed with his butterknife. “They...weren’t pleased. As I’m sure you can imagine. Father had been sentenced to a year in Azkaban, followed by a lifetime’s house arrest, and my mother got off with similar magical restrictions as me. It was a tenuous time for our family reputation - still is, really - and I couldn’t stand to stay in the midst of it.”  
  
He trailed off, looking past Harry until reminded to continue. “And then?”  
  
Draco pursed his lips, eyes coming back to rest on him. “Then, Father cut me off. He finished his year in Azkaban, and immediately froze my finances when I refused to come home.” He clasped his hands together in a forced sort of calm. “So there I was: penniless, jobless, _magic_-less, in the middle of wizarding England with nowhere to go-”  
  
“How could he do that?” Harry interrupted. “How could he, after everything you’d endured? Everything _he_ made you do. Knowing the position it would put you in?” He could feel his stomach burning with the unfairness of it all.  
  
There were parents, like his, that weren’t able to be there for their children, no matter how much they wanted to be. And yet, there were still parents who turned on their kids the second they stepped outside of their perfectly-constructed mold. He would have thought that the Malfoys would have done anything for their only son, especially after what Narcissa had risked during the Final Battle. It was jarring to hear the opposite.  
  
“And your mother - she allowed this?”  
  
Draco looked away. “Mother...didn’t agree. But ultimately, she is not in charge of our estate.” He took another sip. “You see, this is why the disinheritance they mentioned in the papers didn’t affect me so much. That news is nearly a year old, the _Prophet_ just didn’t fact-check.”  
  
Harry let that sink in. “Wait, but if you’ve been disinherited for a year, why did they make you go explain yourself after that article came out?”  
  
The blonde rubbed his face, looking tired. “Call it a last-ditch effort to get me to abandon my ‘traitorous’ ways. It didn’t work, so, naturally, Father went straight to the press with that horrid interview like he promised.”  
  
“‘Like he promised’? Hell...” Harry downed the rest of his pint, looking for some humor to salvage the situation. “So what you’re saying is… I probably _will_ get my balls hexed off if I ever run into your father.”  
  
Draco snorted. “Like I said, _house arrest_. There’s no need to worry about that particular encounter. But enough about me. What have you been up to since the war?”  
  
Their food arrived, just as Harry was going to answer. He waited until the waitress had disappeared back into the crowd before continuing - this date was sure to make the papers, but there was no reason to give eavesdroppers easy fodder.  
  
“Nothing, mostly. I stayed at the Burrow. Ron and Hermione moved on and moved out into their own place, but I stayed. Ginny was there, but busy with Quidditch stuff. I kept everyone pretty distant; I was trying the whole ‘peaceful living’ thing I had never gotten to experience growing up, but in the end, it just wasn’t for me.”  
  
Draco took a bite of shepherd’s pie, giving him a wry look. “Well, _I_ could’ve told you that.” At Harry’s surprised expression he continued. “You were always getting into trouble - sassing people, starting fights, saving the world - and happiest when you were doing all three. ‘Peaceful living’ - as you call it - was bound to be terrible for you.”  
  
“Huh,” Harry said, shocked at the depth to which Draco seemed to consider this. “I wish I had known that before I tried it for two years.”  
  
Clearing his throat delicately, Draco added, “So you and Ginny… are over, I presume?”  
  
Blindsided, Harry blinked at him in shock for several moments before answering. Then, he burst out, “You let me suck your dick without knowing that first?”  
  
Draco covered his face in embarrassment. In a quiet voice, he murmured, “Well, I wasn’t sure I’d get another chance…”  
  
“Blimey, Draco, yes! Yes, we’re over. I thought you knew that.”  
  
“Well, I sort of suspected… I mean, there were rumors about why you were suddenly avoiding everyone-”  
  
“And it never occurred to you to _ask_ in the time since then? Like before we kissed?”  
  
“Merlin, Harry!” he exclaimed, voice raised, “I was just happy you wanted to kiss me!”  
  
Draco froze, face red, eyes widening as he realized he had probably said too much. Too loudly. In the quiet after his outburst, Harry noted more eyes flicking in their direction.  
  
_Fuck it_.  
  
“I _did_ want to kiss you,” he replied in a decidedly quieter tone. “And it shocked me that you were even interested - up until that point, I thought you were completely straight.”  
  
“Not _interested?_” Draco pressed a hand to his face groaned in frustration. “How did you-…Harry, I don’t think I could have been any more _overt_. Straight men don’t fellate carrots to get other men’s attention.”  
  
Harry turned tomato red. He fidgeted with his chips.  
  
“Err, right. I kinda wondered about that.”  
  
“Merlin, this is exactly what I was afraid of. Half the time, I thought you got it and were - _maybe_ \- flirting back, but the other half, I was convinced that I had made it all up due to your utter cluelessness!”  
  
“Well, sorry I’m so ‘clueless’-” Harry began hotly, but Draco wasn’t done.  
  
“And the pranks - were you trying to drive me mad? Was that flirting, or am I crazy? You wrote yourself into my schedule until Christmas - that seemed a bit intense for a simple joke. But was it flirting? I didn’t sleep for two nights, questioning your motives.”  
  
Harry pouted. “It was...flirting.”  
  
At the admission, Draco’s eyes flicked back to his with surprise, and he let out a long sigh. The tension seemed to drain from his body. “Well, thank Merlin for that, at least.” He stared into Harry’s eyes. “When did you know?”  
  
“Like I said, a few weeks.”  
  
“But like, what made you realize?”  
  
Draco asked it so earnestly that Harry felt an upsurge of guilt at his reason. The memory of wanking to Draco after his fight with Ginny shot through him like a bullet, and he swallowed dryly trying to think of something less incriminating to say.  
  
“I...err...it was after the Quidditch scrimmage.”  
  
Draco leaned forward with interest. “Which one? The time you ran into me?”  
  
Harry chewed at his lip. “Err, no. The first one.”  
  
“Huh,” Draco said, brows raised in surprise. “So earlier then. Why that one?”  
  
Fuck, he looked so innocently curious - Harry _couldn’t_ tell him. “I...I mean- you kept _looking_ at me throughout the match and...and I hadn’t seen you in your gear before-”  
  
“Which you assured me would look horrendous and laughable, yes.”  
  
Harry was looking anywhere but his eyes. “Um, well. Yeah, I had thought it would be…”  
  
He wanted to just leave it at that and move on to some less embarrassing topic, but Draco seemed amused by his hesitance - and with typical Slytherin zeal - latched on.  
  
“And how did I look, Harry?” A smug smirk was tugging at his lips.  
  
Fuck, the man was torturing him.  
  
“You looked...really good.”  
  
“Just ‘really good’?” he teased. “Use your words, Harry.”  
  
“Really _fucking_ good, okay?” His face was burning. “What, you want me to wax poetic about how the leather grips your arse? Hell.”  
  
Draco grinned triumphantly. “What was the real reason you decided you liked me, Harry?”  
  
Harry froze, unable to weasel out of such a direct question. He stared at their forgotten plates of food, desperate for a distraction, an inspiration.  
  
He felt Draco’s hand on his wrist, and then the man was leaning across the table, whispering in his ear. “Did you think of me during sex?”  
  
Harry drew away like he’d been scalded. Blustering. “It wasn’t during _sex!_” he hissed, completely scandalized. “It was just wanking!”  
  
A wicked smirk worked its way across Draco’s face, and Harry realized he’d been played.  
  
“Oh, _fuck_ you. Go ahead and laugh.”  
  
He startled as a hand ran across his thigh.  
  
“_Laughing_ was...not what I had in mind,” came the sultry reply. Draco’s eyes found his, and they were positively smoldering.  
  
Harry suddenly found it hard to breathe, as his heart stuttered against his ribs. He couldn’t find the air to say they were in public - that people were undoubtedly watching this very moment. He sat very, very still.  
  
Draco’s hand skated up and up, stopping just before his crotch, then danced back down to his knee. He did it several times, building the pressure before-  
  
He gave Harry’s leg a squeeze and drew back into his seat. His eyes glittered with humor.  
  
“But that can wait.”  
  
Harry’s urge to punch him returned full-force.  
  
He couldn’t just _do_ that and leave him like this - _in public_, no less.  
  
But Draco simply picked up his fork and knife and cut into his meal with a devious smirk. And, _of fucking course_, he made sure to chew each bite with a tantalizing languor.  
  
_That absolute bastard_. 

  


When they finished eating, an uncomfortable amount of people were staring in their direction. Some whispered, some glared, and some even tried to snap pictures as they merely sat and talked. It was putting Harry off, even though he was desperately trying to focus on Draco.  
  
“-and then Blaise says, ‘Well if Potter can’t even brew a Sleeping Draught, then how can he-... Are you even listening?”  
  
“What? Yes.” He stopped scanning the room and looked back at Draco.  
  
“What was I saying then?”  
  
“Something rude that Zabini said about me fourth year. Look, can we...head on to Honeydukes?”  
  
Draco looked over his shoulder where Harry had been staring. “They really bother you that much?”  
  
“Don’t they bother you?”  
  
“Not really, anymore. I’m used to it. As ‘The Savior,’ I would’ve thought you’d be used to it too.”  
  
Harry sighed. “Yes, well, they used to look at me with adoration and gratitude, so it’s hard to adjust to everyone looking at me like I’ve just kicked their pet kneazle.”  
  
Draco’s mouth thinned. “Unfortunately, I’m well-acquainted with that particular look.” He flagged the waitress for the check.  
  
“I’ll pay,” Harry said quickly.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco snorted.  
  
“It’s not ridiculous - you just told me you’d been cut off from your inheritance. _I’m paying_.”  
  
“I can still afford a lunch like _this_,” Draco said, seeming to bite back a stronger retort. His cheeks were pink, and Harry could imagine how hard it was for him to accept his financial decline. Especially with the Malfoys, money had always bought pride - among other things.  
  
“You can pay for Honeydukes,” Harry insisted. “Let me get this one.”  
  
Draco’s eyes glittered dangerously. “I’m not a _charity case_, Potter-”  
  
“And I’m not saying you are!” He grabbed for Draco’s hand, trying to soothe the moment before it grew even more _newsworthy_.  
  
The blonde scowled.  
  
“I’m buying you lunch because I _like_ you, Draco. Can’t I do that?”  
  
Draco stared him down, undoubtedly analyzing his intentions. After a moment, Harry felt the man’s grip relax a bit in his. “_Fine_,” he huffed. “Bloody Gryffindors and their _emotional blackmail_…”  
  
He muttered the last bit with a blush though, so he didn’t seem _that_ upset about it.  
  
Harry paid, and then they were getting up to go. By this time, most everyone at the pub was staring openly and whispering. It was only when they were in the street that Harry realized he hadn’t dropped Draco’s hand.  
  
Nervousness warred with a frenetic joy at the contact - that Draco had allowed it, that he hadn’t pulled away immediately - but it also made Harry focus too hard on it, which made his palm sweat. Fuck, what if Draco noticed? He couldn’t even hold hands without screwing it up.  
  
After a few more steps, Draco _did_ pull away - to Harry’s utter mortification, at least until he realized that he was only putting on his jacket. He slid it gracefully over his shoulders while walking, which he noted _had_ to be a practiced move. Draco didn’t move to grab his hand again, and Harry was equal parts disappointed and relieved.  
  
And when he wasn’t hyperfocused on his hands, he noticed that wizards were giving them a wide berth in the streets; they were definitely attracting attention. No sooner had the thought crossed Harry’s mind than a reporter cut towards them through the crowd.  
  
Panic spiked through him. Getting mobbed by journalists was a surefire way to ruin a date, and besides - they hadn’t even discussed what they wanted to tell the press. Maybe Harry would say something defensive claiming Draco as his lover or something and then Draco would get offended and deny him in front of everyone.  
  
Anxiety whirled through his chest. He had seemed okay with the article about the Ball; but dancing was entirely different than getting entangled in accusations of “sexual deviancy.” Did Draco _want_ to be publicly claimed? Or did he want to maintain a firm silence to the press and then meet in secret? If Harry gave the wrong answer on the spot, maybe he wouldn’t even want to meet him _at all_ \- there were just too many variables and horrible endings.  
  
The man was closing in with his poorly hidden camera, and in a fit of nerves, Harry clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder and Apparated them away.  
  
They burst into the alleyway by Honeydukes with a crack. Draco stumbled against the wall, flipping around as soon as he caught his footing.  
  
“What the hell, Harry! A little _warning_ next time, maybe?” He glanced around wildly. “Especially when we’re only going...oh, _I don’t know_ \- three blocks?!”  
  
His breathing was erratic, hand pressed to his chest, and Harry supposed that Apparition was unpleasant at the best of times; therefore, it could only be worse when unexpected.  
  
“Sorry, sorry! I saw a reporter heading for us though.”  
  
“So you decided to draw even _more_ attention?”  
  
“I...er...didn’t think of it like that.”  
  
Draco ran a frustrated hand through his hair then crossed his arms. “Of course. Why would I expect you to think _logically_ at any given point?” he grumbled.  
  
Harry’s stomach sank. Was he actually mad? “I just-...I mean, we haven’t even talked about what we want to say to them, so I didn’t want to be blindsided, and…”  
  
“Say to who - the press? What do you mean?”  
  
“Yeah, the press. I mean-” his face was glowing from nerves, “I mean, we haven’t decided whether we’re going to...you know? Tell people. About this.”  
  
For a long moment, he was horrified he was being too forward - this was the _first_ date after all. And purebloods were strict in their courting; Harry would surely be dumped for his egregious etiquette.  
  
But Draco merely raised a brow and said, “Ah, I see.” A pause. “Do _you_ want people to know?”  
  
His eyes were pinning Harry to the spot, and he panicked, not knowing which answer the blonde wanted to hear. “I, um, don’t see the point in rushing these decisions - unless, of course you wanted to, which would be fine. Or _didn’t_ want to - and that would also be...fine. I mean, I’m good with whatever you decide. Yeah.”  
  
Draco leaned against the wall, arms still crossed, and an unfathomable expression settling on his face. “Harry, you can’t expect me to believe you Apparated us away from a reporter in the middle of the street without having any thoughts on what you want to tell the press.”  
  
He plucked at the fraying bits of his jumper. “We can discuss it later, if you want.”  
  
A small smile tugged at Draco’s lips. “I thought we were trying the whole ‘open communication’ thing on this date.”  
  
_Said like it’s fucking easy_, Harry thought. “Yeah, well I’ve never had a heart-to-heart in an alley before,” he said, trying to regain his footing in the conversation. Even as he said it, it sounded like a bad excuse.  
  
The smile faded. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me?” he asked seriously. His face twisted a flash of pain. “I would understand if you are.”  
  
“No!” Harry said quickly. “I’m not ashamed. Of you _or_ being seen with you.” He willed Draco to hear the earnestness in his voice.  
  
“Harry, it’s okay if you are-”  
  
“Well, I’m _not!_” he all but yelled. If Draco somehow came to the false conclusion that he was, then it was all over. “I _like_ you, I want to _go out_ with you, and if everyone’s going to hound me about it anyway, then _that_ should be in the damn papers.”  
  
Draco’s eyebrows flew up his forehead. His cheeks had pinkened, and his grey eyes were wide with surprise. When he spoke again, it was with an oddly shy voice. “So you _do_ want to tell people?”  
  
Harry considered it for a long moment, thinking hard about what he actually wanted - not what he thought Draco wanted him to want. “Yes,” he finally decided. “But...maybe not right away.”  
  
“Because you think I’ll use you and run?”  
  
“No,” Harry said firmly. “Because...well, it sounds stupid, but-”  
  
“Stupider than you wanting to date a former Death Eater?” Harry suspected that Draco kept cutting in with his snide jibes because he was actually very nervous.  
  
“No,” he said again. “Because...of coming out. It’s like, I’m just figuring it all out myself, and then suddenly I have to explain it to the world. The same world where a lot of people aren’t understanding or accepting - especially in Wizarding society. And I know what I feel, but I don’t have the words to say it; I’m not good at explaining things like Hermione.”  
  
“And what do you feel?” Draco’s voice was low, coaxing.  
  
“Like...like this is exciting. Scary too, but mostly exciting. Like spending time with you...well, it’s different than how I felt for Ginny. I loved her, and I feel terrible for how we drifted away - it really was my fault, after all - but in this selfish way, I’m glad it happened so I could pursue this new thing with you.” He swallowed nervously before the next part. “I’m bisexual. I know some people don’t believe that’s real, so that’s going to be frustrating to explain...and- and it doesn’t mean that I’d cheat on you with a girl or whatever. I mean, if we’re even going to be exclusive, I don’t mean to assume-”  
  
“Harry, you’re babbling.” Draco laughed lightly, catching his hands that had been flailing for emphasis. “I know what bisexuality is.”  
  
“And you don’t mind?” He hated how pleading his voice sounded.  
  
Draco cupped his face with a palm and ran his fingers down his jaw. “Of course not. You were dating Ginny Weasley when we met again - why did you think this would come as a surprise?” He traced up and down his cheek. “Also, you’re making a lot of assumptions. _I_ could be bi - you never thought to ask.”  
  
“Are you?” Harry blurted.  
  
A gentle smirk tugged up his lip. “Well, no. But I could have been.”  
  
“So you’re...gay?” Harry asked hesitantly.  
  
Draco laughed dryly. “No, this is the part where I tell you I’ve actually been _straight_ all along.”  
  
Harry punched his chest softly. “You dick.”  
  
“No really - it’s my longest and most elaborate prank yet,” he insisted, his face inching closer. But Harry was too distracted by his long, silvery eyelashes to pay attention to the words.  
  
And then - he didn’t know who started it first - but they were kissing. Draco pulled him in close, one hand still on his cheek, the other wrapping firmly around the nape of his neck. Harry melted into the touch, kissing him hungrily. Tracing the sculpted curve of his lip with his tongue. He relaxed his body weight against Draco, noticing that, for once, he had the blonde pinned against a wall instead of the other way around.  
  
Draco must have felt his smirk against his lips, because he drew back for a second. “What’s so funny?”  
  
Harry let a silly grin spread across his face. “Nothing. We’re just always up against a wall.”  
  
Draco quirked a mischievous brow. “Oh, I can pin you against other surfaces too, if you’d like.”  
  
A shiver ran down Harry’s spine, and he took that as a cue to launch himself back into their kiss. Draco returned it with fervor, his tongue warring with Harry’s - lilting and caressing like he just couldn’t get enough.  
  
Harry’s hands found Draco’s, and he pressed their interlocked fingers into the wall. The blonde acquiesced with dark, depthless eyes - watching him. _Always_ watching him.  
  
It flooded Harry with a fire that threatened to consume him.  
  
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Harry murmured against his lips, and he felt the jolt that went through Draco at his words. He kissed him again - hard, then tender. Loving the way Draco strained against his grip in order to get closer.  
  
Not to be outdone, the Slytherin broke their kiss and nipped his way down Harry’s jaw to his neck, smirking as he drew a soft moan from him. Harry ached to be touched, to touch Draco in every pleasurable way-  
  
The front bell of Honeydukes clanged as the door opened and shut, reminding him that they were still in public. He stopped, pulling away slightly, but also not willing to give up their physical contact just yet.  
  
“What?” Draco said with swollen, pink lips. His pupils were enormous. “What is it?”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to say something to the effect of “remember, we’re in public, so let’s Apparate the fuck out of here to bone,” but what came out instead were Draco’s earlier words:  
  
“This can wait.”  
  
He smirked at the incredulous look the man was giving him and peeled his body away. Merlin, it was almost worth the self-inflicted torture.  
  
“After all, we have a date to finish, and you owe me some sweets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A date. Finally a chance to write unencumbered witty banter FOREVER. 
> 
> Hey everyone, happy Tuesday. How is everyone's December going? Mine has been crazy, with no signs of slowing up until well into January. I've barely had a chance to write in weeks, so it's a good thing I have a stockpile of chapters to edit for y'all. 
> 
> Let's all try to not perish together!


	18. Candy Sweet Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: reporters asking invasive questions; oral sex; mild sexual humiliation

They went into Honeydukes after several minutes of smoothing and straightening their hair and clothes - performed in disgruntled silence on Draco’s part. But as soon as they entered, the scowl melted off his face. After all, it was impossible to be cross with someone when you were surrounded by magical candy.  
  
To get in the door, they had to step around a kid who was levitating off the ground with a pinched expression - clearly having partaken in some Fizzing Whizzbees. Bluebell-colored bubbles floated around the store, bouncing off walls and people like rubber, even though Harry knew they were in fact made of gum. A familiar feeling of wonder rose up within him, albeit one he hadn’t felt so strongly for a long time. _I love magic_.  
  
He turned to look at Draco to try and share this feeling, even if he knew it wouldn’t be the same for someone who had grown up with all of this. But something in his eyes must have conveyed the sentiment, because Draco was smiling back at him with an impossibly fond expression that made his heart ache a little.  
  
“What do you want to look at first?” he asked.  
  
Draco, still smiling, flapped his hand dismissively. “No, no - you first. Remember, I’m treating, so get whatever you want.”  
  
Harry glanced around, spotting a fountain of Bat’s Blood Soup near them. “Let’s get some Mice Pops to dip!” he said, pulling Draco behind him. He remembered being put off by the name during his first visit, though Ron had later told him that it was actually marshmallow fondue.  
  
He ripped open a Mice Pop and dunked it in, while Draco gracefully dipped a Chocolate Skeleton. It was delicious. With all the stress of the past few years, he had forgotten the simple joys of Honeydukes and how close it was to the castle.  
  
He looked up at Draco to see a thread of syrup drip down his hand. It took all of his restraint not to lean forward and lick it off, but he knew he couldn’t - not _here_.  
  
He had seen several of their students here already, and he was seriously regretting not checking to see if it was a Hogsmeade weekend for them.  
  
Draco, however, noticed his gaze, and sucked his hand clean with a merciless smirk. Harry followed Draco’s tongue with his eyes, meeting his gaze after a breathless moment. His eyes glimmered like polished steel. “Alright, Potter. What next?”  
  
The marshmallow stuck in his throat as he fought to swallow. “Um...Treacle Fudge?” he managed at last.  
  
They tested some fudge and Peppermint Toads - which Draco really seemed to enjoy - before Harry felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, feeling a rush of anxiety when he noticed his fourth year student, Sam, standing there. The boy’s dark fringe fell in his eyes, and he seemed a little startled by Harry, despite being the one to approach.  
  
“Hi Professor,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you in Hogsmeade today.”  
  
“Hi Sam.” Harry looked at him, trying to gauge what he wanted, or if it really was just friendly greetings. “Yes, I don’t normally come out here on the weekends, but today seemed like a good day for a visit.”  
  
He could see Sam’s gaze travelling between him and Draco, who was innocently pretending to be caught up in selecting a Liquorice Wand. “I see,” he said with an unreadable expression. “Look, Professor, I was wondering-”  
  
But he was interrupted by the squeals of several other students who had noticed them, saying things like “Look - it’s Professor Potter and Mister Malfoy!” and “Are they on a _date?_” Harry felt his face redden at the comments, and the girls approached - clearly inspired by Sam going up first.  
  
“Hey Professor! Are you on a date?” The blunt question came from a seventh year, who was clearly less afraid of being cheeky to Harry since he wasn’t much older.  
  
“I...We’re-” He almost denied it, but then glanced up at Draco, who was also watching him with interest. “That’s our business,” he settled on.  
  
“Well, it _looks_ like a date, so we’ll leave you to it,” she said with a smile, and her friends giggled behind her. They swept away to the far side of the store, but he could still feel their gaze on him, even after they were gone.  
  
He turned back to Sam, who looked a bit embarrassed. “What were you saying?”  
  
“Never mind!” the boy said quickly, backtracking a step. “Enjoy your afternoon!” As an afterthought, he gave a nod to Draco and added, “Mister Malfoy.”  
  
Then they were once again alone in the crowd.  
  
“I have a feeling that’s going to happen often,” Draco said, coming up behind him. It sounded like both amusement and a rueful warning.  
  
“Yeah, I know. But that’s okay.” He turned and handed Draco a nougat candy, which the man accepted with a smile. 

  


They were at the check-out counter paying for their pile of Treacle Fudge, Liquorice Wands, Jelly Slugs, Chocolate Cauldrons, Peppermint Toads, and Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum - which Harry got because he really wanted to watch Draco’s jaw while he chewed - when the reporter from earlier burst into the shop.  
  
“Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy out together in Honeydukes!” he shouted, huffing like he’d been running around the village looking for them since they disappeared. He likely had. “A quote if you please.”  
  
Harry felt his insides twist as the whole shop turned to look at them. The cashier, who’d previously been disinterested, as she hadn’t really looked at them closely over the pile of candy, snapped to attention, her eyes widening.  
  
A quick glance around the shop told him any Hogwarts students that _hadn’t_ noticed them before, certainly had now.  
  
Draco, whose expression hadn’t changed throughout the event, who hadn’t even glanced at the reporter - hadn’t even _flinched_ \- asked the cashier with a cool, measured tone, “How much does that come to?”  
  
Then a door burst open on the upstairs balcony, and the owner of Honeydukes, Ambrosius Flume himself, came hustling down the stairs to Harry.  
  
“Mister Potter! What an honor to see you in my store again, what an _honor!_” He pumped Harry’s hand in a vigorous handshake. “What brings you to Hogsmeade today, my boy?”  
  
Harry gulped, and he saw the reporter aiming his camera at him in his periphery. “Err, I’m out with...a friend.” He gestured weakly towards Draco, who was still ignoring the debacle behind him and repeating, “How much?”  
  
The reporter swiveled to take pictures of his new target, and Ambrosius muttered a startled, “Mister Malfoy...it’s- it’s been a while.”  
  
Draco, unable to ignore them any longer, turned lazily with a forced, polite smile. “Mister Flume.” He reached a hand out. “How are you?”  
  
For a horrible moment, Harry thought the man would refuse, but after another beat, he lurched into action and shook Draco’s hand quickly before releasing it. “I’ve been well,” he managed.  
  
Draco turned to face the reporter. “And you, Mister…?”  
  
“Jenkins.”  
  
“Mister Jenkins,” he continued smoothly. “How can we help you?”  
  
“Well, I-” he stammered, unsure what to do with a willing subject, “I’d like to know about your relationship with Mister Potter here.”  
  
Draco nodded sagely, and Harry worried what he was going to say, until the blonde glanced the room rather performatively. “A bit personal of a question to ask in a sweet shop, don’t you think?” His tone brooked no room for argument.  
  
The reporter blushed and sputtered. “It’s- it’s not _me_ that wants to know! It’s the public!”  
  
“Really?” Draco leaned back against the counter with feigned ease. “_Who?_” When no one answered, he continued. “Let them come ask for themselves.”  
  
Jenkins clutched his camera defensively. “They’re afraid to ask! I ask the questions and get the answers that no one else will! That’s my job as a reporter. The people deserve to know the truth!” His voice was raised and wild, contrasting the cool, even tone that Draco made sure to maintain.  
  
“Do they?” Draco countered calmly. “Do they deserve to know every personal detail of someone else’s life?” He frowned. “Harry only _died_ for everyone once - as I’m sure you recall, Mister Jenkins - was that not enough?”  
  
A shiver ran down Harry’s spine at the cold, direct question, and he felt a wave of relief that Draco was on the same side as him. The man had been fucking _groomed_ to be a politician - his diction was _ruthless_.  
  
“That’s not-...! I...we need to know whether he’s been betraying the public!”  
  
“By - what? Talking to _me?_” Draco raised a haughty brow. “Like you’re doing right now?”  
  
Jenkins flapped his mouth opened and closed several times.  
  
“Right,” Draco said. “I think this interview should wait until you’ve thought through your questions a little more.”  
  
He turned back to the cashier, who visibly jumped.  
  
“I’m sorry Miss, how much was it that I owed you?”

  


Him and Draco stumbled back through the Floo into Harry’s room, laughing hysterically from the adrenaline.  
  
“And then-” Harry cackled, “and then his eyes nearly _bugged_ out of his head when you told him to ‘think through his questions more!’” He heaved with giggles. “Merlin…”  
  
Draco chuckled to himself. “Yes, well, if he hadn’t been such a presumptuous arse, I wouldn’t have _had_ to.” He set an enormous bag of sweets on Harry’s table.  
  
“Merlin,” Harry repeated with wonder. “You’re such a sneaky, conniving, _enigmatic_ prat! That’ll twist up their stories for days!”  
  
He heard Draco snort. “Are my ears mistaking me, or did those descriptors come out as _compliments_ this time?”  
  
“No, you were _fantastic_. Really. I wish I could speak as well as you,” he admitted.  
  
Draco’s eyes widened at the honest proclamation, and Harry saw him lick his lips a little nervously. “I...I wasn’t really…” He trailed off.  
  
“Thank you,” Harry said, stepping forward and surprising him even more with a tight hug. At first, Draco tensed up, but as Harry clung to him, he felt the man relaxing into the embrace and resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he murmured back in awe.  
  
Harry drew back enough to look Draco in the eyes, his gaze molten. He dropped his eyes to Draco’s lips, and the man licked them again instinctively. That was all it took to make Harry close the distance and kiss him, tasting a swirl of chocolate and mint that made him groan with desire.  
  
“You taste bloody _amazing_,” he whispered.  
  
Draco growled, pulling him flush against his body and snogging him with all the pent-up aggression from Harry stopping them earlier. He could feel Draco’s erection pressing into him, and he grabbed at his arse to pull him closer. The pressure was both heavenly and torturous.  
  
He gasped as the side of the bed hit his calves and realized he hadn’t even noticed Draco walking them back towards it. Harry let himself collapse onto the bed, pulling the blonde down with him. Draco leaned in and whispered in his ear.  
  
“See, I can pin you other places too.”  
  
Harry couldn’t stop the whine that spilled from his mouth, and Draco chuckled against his neck. His voice sent soft vibrations through Harry’s chest, and distantly, he wondered whether you could get addicted to a sound.  
  
Lips ghosted across his jugular vein, and he quivered with mounting lust. It felt so exhilarating to give Draco such control, to show him such vulnerability. Draco, who used to be his enemy and could rip him apart.  
  
Harry was drunk on vestigal danger.  
  
Draco held his wrists tight against the sheets, lapping at his vein, the hollow of his throat. Harry moaned, arching up into the touch and breathing shallowly when Draco nipped and sucked his way up to Harry’s ear.  
  
“You like that, _Potter?_” he teased.  
  
Harry could only nod, face burning at how Draco already knew what he longed to be called.  
  
“What else do you like?” His voice was a husky whisper.  
  
“_That_,” he muttered, unable to stop himself.  
  
“What?” Draco sounded amused.  
  
“When you...when you talk to me like that,” he admitted, blush spreading all the way to his ears.  
  
“Oh?” Draco sounded wickedly pleased. “Like what?” He released Harry’s wrists to rake his hands down Harry’s chest and stomach. “Like when I make you answer my questions?” He tweaked at Harry’s nipples, drawing them tight. “Or like when I insult you and call you my little Gryffindor whore?”  
  
Indignation swelled inside him, but he also felt himself getting harder than ever. Harry groaned, covering his face with his newly-freed arms.  
  
“All of it,” he whispered.  
  
Draco pulled his arms away, forcing him to look up at his insufferable grin. “_All_ of it? My, my, Potter - not quite the ‘pure, perfect’ Savior everyone thinks, are you?”  
  
“Shut it, Malfoy.”  
  
He quirked a brow, smirking. “And he likes to fight back, I see.”  
  
Draco slid his hands down Harry’s abdomen, toying with the dip of his hip bone. “How about this,” he started, unclasping Harry’s belt with one quick, deft hand movement. “You - _The Savior_ \- lie back and think pure, innocent thoughts, while I-” he tugged Harry’s zipper down roughly, “-_the big, bad Death Eater_ \- bring you off with my mouth?”  
  
Harry whined, nearly coming from that sentence alone.  
  
Draco laughed at him, his hands tearing open his jeans and shoving down his pants to free his stiff cock. “_Merlin_, you’re more ‘impure’ than I thought.”  
  
His hand closed around Harry’s dick, expertly pumping it a few times before he slid down to get into position. He looked up at Harry through thick blond lashes, eyes nearly black with arousal.  
  
Harry’s cock leapt at the gaze, and Draco smirked wider before leaning in and licking a stripe from base to tip, eyes never leaving Harry’s. Harry squeezed his shut in order to hold out until at least _after_ Draco had actually put his mouth around him.  
  
The man kissed and teased his shaft until Harry could barely stand it; then, at last, he took the head in his mouth. Harry’s body jerked at the sensation, and Draco swirled his tongue with an amused huff. Though Ginny had given him blowjobs before, they generated not even a fraction of the intensity Harry felt as he watched Draco close his lips around him.  
  
It felt indescribable.  
  
“Fuck,” he breathed, as Draco took him deeper.  
  
The Slytherin pulled off with a kiss at the tip. “_Pure thoughts_, Potter, remember?” He grinned like the devil, pumping the base of Harry’s rigid cock. “It’s like you’re not even _trying_.”  
  
When Harry could only moan with need, he descended once more, wrapping him in blissful, slick heat. Harry could feel his orgasm building as Draco’s head dropped lower and lower, taking him to the base.  
  
A complete lack of feeling could not have prevented him from coming at that moment, as the sight of Draco Malfoy, eyes closed, Harry’s cock down his throat, seared into Harry’s mind forever.  
  
He spilled into Draco’s mouth, body rocking forward as the pleasure hit him in waves. Distantly, he felt a hand slip past his balls and knead into his perineum, sending new spikes of euphoria through him until he was loose and ragged and spent.  
  
Draco finally pulled off of him, wiping his mouth with a smirk. “Well, it looks like I won.”  
  
Harry laughed weakly. “Right. Fine, you can have that. You won.” He let a hand flop over his forehead, as a deep relaxation settled over him. “Maybe I should let you ‘win’ more often,” he mused.  
  
He glanced up at Draco, sitting on the edge of the bed facing him. The blonde seemed unsure of what to do now, so Harry patted the bed beside him.  
  
“Lay with me?”  
  
Hesitantly, Draco settled in next to Harry, facing him. As he lay on his side, his hair fell into his eyes, and Harry instinctively brushed it back with a soft caress. Draco made a little gasping sound at the contact.  
  
“What is it?” he murmured sleepily.  
  
“Nothing…” Draco said. “Just...this is nice.”  
  
“The cuddling or the sex?” he asked with a soft chuckle.  
  
Draco blushed a little. “Both.”  
  
Harry shot to a sitting position at a sudden thought. “Fuck, you haven’t cum yet, have you?” He made to reach for Draco’s trousers, but the man waved him away.  
  
“It’s fine - later. We have all day.”  
  
The implication that Draco _wanted_ \- and expected - to spend the whole day together made him glow with happiness.  
  
“Alright,” he said, settling back in beside him. “Then in the meantime, let’s just rest a bit.” He wrapped an arm around Draco’s back, pulling him closer and rubbing circles against his silk shirt.  
  
“You just mean you want to nap,” Draco said, amusement in his voice. Harry couldn’t see his smirk, since his eyes had fluttered shut, but he was sure it was there.  
  
“Only if you’re still here when I wake up,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's part 2 of their date! (And, somehow, it's technically still going??) How long will their date last? Stay tuned!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)  
xoxo


	19. Office Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: handjobs; coming out worries

Draco was still there when he woke. Harry opened his eyes and felt a swell of affection as his blurred gaze fell upon blonde, tousled hair. _We passed the test_, he thought with a smile.  
  
“You awake?” Draco asked with a decidedly un-sleepy voice. He unfurled his hand from the covers, and then he was slipping glasses onto Harry’s face. “You fell asleep with these on, so I took them off,” he explained.  
  
His heart fluttered at the sweet gesture. No one had ever done that for him before. “Th-thanks,” he croaked, voice still husky with sleep. He met Draco’s eyes, which were watching him with neutral interest. Laying on his side like this, chin resting on his hand, Draco really did look like a model. “What time is it?”  
  
He gave a lopsided grin. “Around six. That was one hell of a nap, Harry.”  
  
Harry blushed. “I’m sorry! Did you...did you sleep at all?”  
  
Draco looked away. “A bit.” It was obvious he hadn’t.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, feeling rather like he’d mucked it all up - sleeping through most of their date.  
  
“Don’t apologize. I was entertained.” He pushed some loose strands of hair out of his eyes.  
  
“Doing what?”  
  
“...Thinking.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
Draco’s eyes cut back towards him. “You.”  
  
That response stole Harry’s breath away. “Oh,” he mumbled.  
  
He desperately wanted to ask “What _about_ me?” - but didn’t quite have the nerve. Not when he was lost in Draco’s gaze, unwilling to speak or even _breathe_ in case he ruined the moment.  
  
He slid his hands slowly to rest on Draco’s hips, wrapping around somewhat hesitantly and pulling him closer. “Hopefully you weren’t thinking about how my drooly, sleeping face is a deal-breaker,” he whispered, trying for a light smile.  
  
Draco’s lips twitched, but he remained serious as he said, “Nothing about you is a deal-breaker, Harry.”  
  
His heart thundered in his chest, as he found himself both incapable of maintaining eye contact, yet incapable of looking away. _Did Draco mean… did he want to be_ together _together? Like, officially?_  
  
When Harry’s eyes had danced away and back to Draco’s about a thousand times, the blonde cracked a smile. “What?”  
  
Harry huffed out an embarrassed sigh. “I really don’t know what to do when you’re being _honest_,” he mumbled.  
  
Draco caught the hand that was covering his blush and linked fingers, pulling it away gently. He brushed his lips over the knuckles in a wispy kiss. “Maybe I should be honest more often then.”  
  
Harry shivered, then shook his head. “I don’t think I could handle that,” he admitted.  
  
Draco laughed - a warm, clear sound. He pulled Harry the rest of the way to lie flush against him.  
  
“All the more reason then.”  
  
He dipped his head in for a kiss, and Harry drew back with an embarrassing realization. At the flash of hurt across Draco’s face, he blurted, “No, it’s-...I haven’t brushed my teeth!”  
  
The other man raised a brow. “So...do a dental charm?” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
But Harry was already throwing back the covers and hurrying towards the adjacent bathroom. Despite what Draco claimed, his morning breath would most definitely be a dealbreaker. “It doesn’t feel the same!” he called over his shoulder.  
  
He pulled the door open a few minutes later, a little sheepish about his dramatic exit, but feeling much less self-conscious about his breath. When his gaze fell upon Draco though, he hesitated in the doorway, chest fluttering more than it had a right to. The blonde was lounging against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, slightly crossed at the ankles. He was so _damn_ beautiful, and Harry worried for the fate of his heart if this was what happened every time he merely _looked_ at him.  
  
Harry shifted his weight, and the floor creaked, causing Draco’s gaze to snap up to him. He smirked. “Really, Potter? Lurking in doorways now?” His eyes skated up and down Harry’s form in a way that felt as intense as his hands running all over him. “Are you ready to admit you’re stalking me yet?”  
  
Harry’s face blazed. “I wasn’t-...I mean, I’m not. Anymore. Or not in the same way-”  
  
When he failed to move back towards the bed, Draco slid to his feet and sauntered over to him. “'_Anymore?_'” he echoed, catching Harry’s chin in his fingertips. “'_Not in the same way?_' Which '_way_' did you mean?”  
  
Harry tried to distract him with a kiss, but Draco pushed him back firmly.  
  
“You’re not getting out of this through diversion, my little almost-Slytherin,” he murmured with a smirk. Harry’s heart caught on the “_my_,” thrashing in his chest like a frantic bird. In that moment, he wanted his _everything_ to be Draco’s.  
  
Holding his nape in a firm grim - likely to prevent him running away - Draco leaned in and whispered against his ear. “Well? Which ‘_way?_’”  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to suppress the shiver down his neck as Draco’s breath tickled his ear. He swallowed. “I used to...er, _follow_ you, because you were up to no good.”  
  
Draco chuckled at that, running a hand down to rest on Harry’s hip. “Was I?”  
  
“You were,” Harry said, gasping as Draco nipped at his ear. “You’re always up to something.”  
  
“Always? I notice the change in tense there, Potter. What - you think I’m up to something, even now?”  
  
“Aren’t you?” Harry managed, groaning at the way Draco’s tongue was tracing the shell of his ear. “You’re plotting my demise.”  
  
Draco paused his ministrations, and Harry could feel his smirk against his neck. “Absolutely. I’m surprised you noticed.” Then, he began pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to his collarbone, yanking his shirt lower. “See, _noticing_ things isn’t usually your strong suit.”  
  
Harry huffed a breathless laugh. “Well I’ve developed a sense for when you’re trying to ruin me.”  
  
“No, you haven’t.” Draco pulled back enough to meet his eyes with a lopsided grin. “If that were true, it’d be warning you _all_ the time.”  
  
Harry flushed.  
  
Draco smirked and caught Harry’s face with his palm. “And you never answered the second half of my question. In what ‘_way_’ are you stalking me now?”  
  
He was positively drowning in that warm grey gaze. That same aching tenderness rose in his throat that he had first felt last week in the classroom after Draco had apologized. There was so much emotion whirling inside him.  
  
“Obsessively,” he breathed.  
  
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and made a low noise in the back of his throat. “_Fuck_.”  
  
Then he was scrambling for Harry’s zipper, and Harry was unbuttoning Draco’s trousers at the same time. They wrenched down their pants, cocks springing free in seconds, and then Draco was wrapping his long, beautiful fingers around them both, pumping them together in one gloriously full fist.  
  
Harry rested one hand on Draco’s arse - his previous shyness lost to desire as he kneaded and pulled him closer, his other anchored on his shoulder. Their foreheads pressed against each other, and Harry moaned into the space between them. His eyes stared, transfixed, at the sight of his dick against Draco’s, flushed heads bobbing beneath Draco’s strained grip.  
  
And it felt so good. He had never imagined he would be so aroused at feeling another cock against his. Hot and hard with blood and desire.  
  
Harry bit his lip to hold back another strangled groan, eyes flicking up to see Draco watching him. _Always_ watching him. Eyes never straying - the way he watched Harry on the Quidditch pitch even _after_ he had caught the motherfucking snitch.  
  
_And sweet Merlin, his eyes were black. Irises_ consumed _by his pupils. Like they might just keep expanding until they drank the whole world in_.  
  
The pressure, the eye contact - everything was so intense that after several minutes he was already losing himself, breath hitching, balls tightening, fingers digging into smooth flesh.  
  
And Draco. Draco muttering his name like a curse, like a prayer - like a sin so dazzling he never wanted to be forgiven.  
  
It was the last, “_Harry, fuck_-” that sent him over the edge. His body jerked, spilling into Draco’s fist which kept on pumping, kept on pumping until he too was coming, never pausing until each touch sent jitters through them, but there was nothing left to spend.  
  
They both stared for a moment, panting, at the way their seeds had smeared together, indistinguishable. He was struck by how utterly intimate it was.  
  
Draco drew his hand away, and Harry felt his knees wobble. Lost in post-orgasmic bliss, he was unsure whether they’d continue to hold him once Draco had let go, and clutched onto his shoulder even more tightly.  
  
Draco lifted his elbow with mild interest to inspect how far their semen trailed down his wrist, then caught Harry’s gaze once more. Between lying in bed earlier and this, his shirt was horrendously wrinkled and several buttons undone. His hair was ruffled, sticking to his forehead with sweat, cheeks flushed, and with their fluids running down his arm, he looked more disheveled than Harry had ever seen him - once again, he looked _debauched_.  
  
Harry had never seen something so hot in his entire life.  
  
“Fuck, you’ve done it. You’re killing me,” he whispered, trying to rub the impending blush from his face. “This is definitely my demise.”  
  
And if that wasn’t enough to actually kill him, Draco broke into a heart-melting smile.

  


They had sent for dinner to be brought up to Harry’s room, and enjoyed warm bowls of stew on the couch by the fire. Though he had been too busy the past few days to notice, the air definitely had a chill about it now - especially within the cold, stone walls of the castle. At the current moment, however, Harry had no qualms about this, as it gave him an excuse to wrap him and Draco in his singular blanket, sitting closer than he had any right to while they ate and talked.  
  
But the blonde didn’t seem to mind - _surely, he would say something if he thought Harry was being too clingy?_ However, he never mentioned it or pulled away, and they simply continued to joke and converse as the evening lengthened. Harry was about to work up his nerve to ask Draco if he wanted to stay the night, when a soft knocking sound cut through the warm crackling of the fire.  
  
Harry and Draco looked at each other in panic. After a stupefied second, Draco mouthed, “Student?” - not daring to speak aloud. His eyes were wide.  
  
“Err, who is it?” Harry called, jumping up and pacing several useless steps before turning back and spelling away the remnants of their dinner and a mess clearly wrought by two people. Draco leapt up too, whipping his head around - likely gauging where he could hide most easily.  
  
“It’s Sam,” came the muffled reply through the door.  
  
“Shit, shit, shit-” Harry whispered, as he grabbed Draco and shut him in the bathroom with a click. He ignored the quiet, yet indignant “Hey!” that issued through the door.  
  
“Oh, _Sam!_ Be right there!” he called.  
  
He dashed to the door, looking around frantically for any last scandalous clue, before opening it. Sam stood on the other side, cast in the same hesitation from earlier in Honeydukes. Gone was his surly disposition from class whenever Harry called on him for an answer - he looked drained and wan, exhaustion carved beneath his eyes.  
  
“Hi,” he said, distractedly. “Can you...do you have a minute to talk?”  
  
Harry, who had firmly been in the camp of promptly sending him away not a minute before, found himself swinging the door open the rest of the way and ushering him in. He couldn’t in good conscience turn away a student looking like this.  
  
“Sure. I was just...grading papers-” his eyes fell upon a dish and glass he had missed. “Err, while having dinner. At the same time.” _He needed to stop talking_.  
  
Sam glanced at him suspiciously. “Right.”  
  
Harry swiped up the blanket and began to fold it away. “Have a seat! Now what can I do for you, Sam?”  
  
The boy sat, but didn’t answer immediately. “I...I was wondering, well, how you _knew_,” he said eventually. After saying it, he met Harry’s eyes knowingly.  
  
Harry was confused. “Um, ‘knew’ what?”  
  
Sam frowned, seeming to chew on his words. “You know. Knew you were _different_.”  
  
“Like, ‘The Chosen One’ different?” Harry tried. He felt like there was something he was just not understanding here, and Draco’s comment about cluelessness came to mind. He bit his lip, suddenly nervous knowing that Draco was very likely listening and thinking him an idiot.  
  
Sam looked away. “No, not like that. Like _different_ in who you are...who you like.”  
  
Harry thought about it. He didn’t think of himself as that different than everyone else. Just born under a ridiculous prophecy. And the people he liked - Hermione, Ron, Ginny - well, anyone would like them, because they were genuine and _good_.  
  
“_Bi!_” Sam said suddenly. “When did you know you were _bi?_” He was blushing furiously, clearly undecided about whether he should meet Harry’s gaze challengingly or look literally _anywhere_ else. As it was, his eyes flicked towards him then away several times, scowl deepening on his face.  
  
Fuck, Draco was probably laughing his arse off. Harry was an utter dolt.  
  
“Oh! Yes. Err…” He took a deep breath. “It’s a rather recent discovery.” Sam was looking at him intently now, like this was what he came for, so he continued. “I...well, I found myself liking someone who was also a bloke, and that surprised me a lot, but the more I thought about it, the more it...didn’t seem so much of a surprise.”  
  
Sam leaned forward in his seat. “But how did you know you were _bi?_ I mean, it could’ve just been a passing fancy, right? An experiment?” His voice sounded a little desperate.  
  
Harry thought about what he and Draco had been doing an hour ago. He recalled the intensity of passion, the desire to do it all again as soon as possible. “Err, no. Definitely not a ‘passing fancy’ – not for me, at least.”  
  
He knew where this was going now, even though it had taken him ages to realize. “Sam...do you like someone?” he asked softly.  
  
The boy went bowstring tight before deflating with a sigh. “I don’t know.”  
  
He picked at some lint on his robes. Harry let the silence wear on until he spoke again.  
  
“Maybe. I just-...I mean, there’s this guy I always enjoy talking to. Like, more than others. We’re just friends though! I mean, I doubt… I think he’s probably straight. But just seeing him in class or whatever makes me happy, and I get all nervous that my jokes aren’t good around him, and I really want them to be, because then I’ll get to see him laugh and-” Sam took a breath and swallowed. “I’m completely doomed, aren’t I?”  
  
Harry chuckled lightly. Sympathetically. “You’re not doomed. But those are all traits that definitely qualify as a crush.” Not that he had realized it himself at Sam’s age. He rubbed at his jaw in thought. “Have you tried talking to him about it?”  
  
“Merlin, no!” Sam looked horrified at the mere prospect. “What if he hates me after?”  
  
Harry related to that sentiment so much that it hurt. “I understand it’s hard… And, of course, every situation is different, so I can’t give you some catch-all advice.” Then again, he thought about Draco yelling at him for not kissing him. Misunderstandings were easy to breed.  
  
“But,” he continued, “you’ll also never know until you communicate. Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way - maybe he _does_. And if you never ask, you’ll never know.”  
  
Sam all but groaned. “Yes, but if he _doesn’t_ like me, and he _doesn’t_ like gay people in general, then I could lose more than just his friendship - I could become the laughingstock of the whole school!” He put his head in his hands and mumbled the rest. “And I haven’t saved the world or anything, so it’s not like I have other cool accomplishments people can focus on instead.”  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. He was surprised at the boldness; though, Sam must have given up all pretense of choosing his words carefully after the “bi” comment. The boy seemed to be running on autopilot.  
  
“True. But that’s always going to be a concern for you, as long as you’re in the closet.”  
  
He glared up at Harry. “Says the man who’s barely out of the closet himself.”  
  
Harry looked away, sheepish. “Yeah, well, I didn’t say it was _easy_. I’m still dealing with a lot of the aftermath of this situation too. But once people get used to the idea, or I _make_ them accept it, they won’t be able to use it against me. Everyone will already know and think of it what they will.”  
  
“Yeah, well the majority of people don’t just ‘accept’ people who are different.”  
  
Harry wanted to lie and say he was wrong. But after a long moment, he simply nodded, a lump in his throat.  
  
Sam’s expression crumpled then, the fight leaving him. “I just wish there was proof that it’s all worth it someday. Something that would make it easier to make some sort of decision in the _now_.”  
  
Harry felt his chest tightening, his heart going out to this kid in front of him. He couldn’t promise that it would be worth it - he had no way of seeing anybody’s future. He couldn’t...but he wanted to show him that the possibility existed.  
  
Harry made a decision. “There is. Proof, I mean.”  
  
Sam met his eyes with weary surprise. “What?”  
  
Instead of speaking, he stood and walked to the bathroom door. With one last reassuring smile over his shoulder, he yanked it open.  
  
Draco stood there with his hands in his pockets and an amused smile playing at his lips. Thankfully, it looked as if he had done some cleaning and pressing charms on his clothes, as they looked pristine once more. “Hello,” he said, like this was all completely normal.  
  
Harry glanced back to gauge Sam’s reaction, and saw his eyes widen, dancing between the two of them. “I knew it!” he burst out. Then, seeming embarrassed, he laughed a little, making Harry join in.  
  
“Yes, well, I’ve been told I’m not overly subtle.” His gaze flicked to Draco, who was smirking.  
  
“Yeah, no,” Sam said bluntly. “You’re really not.”  
  
He swallowed a twinge of indignation. _So he was bad at hiding things_ \- most _people would call that “honesty.”_  
  
“Anyway,” he coughed, walking the two of them back towards Sam, “I just wanted to show you that not _all_ relationships end in disaster.”  
  
“But ours surely will,” Draco cut in.  
  
Harry glared at him, but Sam was laughing again, so he didn’t shoot back a choice retort. “What I’m trying to say is...err…” He floundered.  
  
“I get it,” Sam said. “You’re a bloke, you have a boyfriend, and you’re happy. It’s possible.”  
  
Harry blushed, glancing expectantly at Draco and waiting for him to correct Sam about being his “boyfriend.” He waited some more, but Draco only looked back at Harry with that damn amused smile, revealing nothing.  
  
“Right,” Harry said, feeling his body flame down to his toes.  
  
_Had Draco just become his_ boyfriend?  
  
“Well, I didn’t know you had company, so I won’t stay and intrude any more,” Sam said, standing. “But thanks, Professor. It did make me feel better about all this.”  
  
They walked together towards the door. When they reached it, however, Sam hesitated with his hand on the knob. “You won’t...mention this to anyone, right? I know it’s not good to keep it a secret forever, but for right now…” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes still warm but also nervous.  
  
“Of course,” Harry reassured. “I would never tell anyone without your permission.”  
  
Sam glanced at Draco, who raised a brow. “I won’t tell, if you don’t.”  
  
That seemed to satisfy him, as Sam nodded and proceeded out the door. “Goodnight.”

  


Back in the room, Harry turned towards Draco. “Did you mean it?”  
  
“What?” Draco smirked, leaning against the wall.  
  
“You know. The comment Sam made,” he prompted.  
  
Draco inspected his nails with feigned interest. “The boy made many comments.”  
  
_Merlin, he really was a dramatic prat_.  
  
Harry cleared his throat nervously. Draco was making him say it aloud. “Are we… I mean, did you…” He started again, going all in. “Are you my boyfriend now?”  
  
Draco considered him for a moment. “Do you want me to be?”  
  
Harry gulped. This was crazy, and it was going so fast. But he _did_ want it, and he had to take his own advice and try to be honest. “Yes.”  
  
The blonde broke into an impish grin, and then Harry just _knew_ he was going to say something infuriating instead of a straight answer.  
  
Sure enough, Draco tapped a forefinger to his cheek in dramatized concentration, and an innocent look played upon his sneaky face.  
  
“I’ll think about it then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, happy holidays! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it! 
> 
> Side plug: I'm finishing up writing a Christmasy Drarry oneshot called ["A Little White Christmas"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950029) if you want to check that out as well once it's up! It should be posted later this evening or sometime tomorrow. Hope everyone is having a fun holiday season. 
> 
> xoxo


	20. Indiscretion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: discussion of anxiety/PTSD

Harry was called to McGonagall’s office the next morning after breakfast. The second she snagged him leaving the Great Hall, he knew it would be trouble. Nonetheless, he made his way to the Headmistress’ office a little while later, chanting “punctuality is key” in a deadpan voice to activate the spiral staircase when he got there.  
  
When it had reached the top, he knocked on the heavy wooden door and waited.  
  
“Come in,” she called.  
  
Harry pushed into the room and tried to discern the exact reason behind her disappointed look. “Headmistress?”  
  
She scowled, breaking up the patented disappointment with stern remonstration. “I told you ages ago to call me Minerva.”  
  
Harry stepped into the room and took a seat. “Right,” he said, relieved that he hadn’t pissed her off enough to retract even that. “What did you want to see me about? Is this about the latest article?”  
  
She finished straightening some piles of parchment on her desk, then levelled him with a pointed gaze. “No, Harry. You’re not here about the article, though I did find it amusing that your journalist friend found a way to make sweets-shopping sound malevolent. I think we both know you’re here to talk about _discretion_.”  
  
“But you said before-…I mean, you seemed supportive a few days ago.” He tried not to pout, but really – she _had_ heavily implied her support. It had been one of the only reasons he’d been brave enough to keep facing the public.  
  
“I didn’t say I’m not supportive of your personal relationships. However,” she raised an arched brow, “as a teacher in this school, I expect it to stay just that – _personal_.”  
  
Harry blinked in confusion. “Erm, it is? It _was_, wasn’t it? We were just in my room-”  
  
Minerva heaved an affronted sigh. “Harry, I heard several students tittering over breakfast that they had seen Mister Malfoy slinking out of Gryffindor tower this morning. In clothes, incidentally, that they had seen him wearing _yesterday_ on your outing in Hogsmeade.”  
  
Harry grimaced. _Fuck_, why hadn’t Malfoy been more discreet? He was a sneaky enough bastard most of the time.  
  
“It didn’t help that you were positively mooning over each other at breakfast, fetching each other scones and nervously spilling drinks in front of the whole student body.”  
  
He thought back to breakfast, which had previously put him in a soaring mood, and cringed that others had noticed the gestures he had thought of as private.  
  
“Do I _want_ to know this much about your relationships?” she continued. “No, no I do not. I don’t care what you do in your free time, Harry, but please keep the scandalous rumors to a minimum. At least _within_ the castle, since you can’t seem to stay out of the papers.”  
  
Harry ducked his head, thoroughly admonished. “Right. That’s…fair.” He chewed at his lip while thinking about what this meant for meeting up with Draco. “But it would all be so much easier to keep ‘discreet’ if he was allowed to Floo!” he burst out.  
  
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I haven’t forbidden Mister Malfoy the Floo.”  
  
“Yes, well, you haven’t _granted_ it either. He rather thinks you never would.”  
  
Minerva pursed her lips. “Well, seeing as he’s never discussed it with me, I can’t see how he would come to that conclusion.”  
  
“So if he came and asked, you would allow him?”  
  
For the first time this meeting, her scowl slipped into something akin to a mischievous smile. “Well, he’ll just have to come see for himself, won’t he?” 

  


Harry had relayed the message as Draco got geared up to help the Slytherin team practice. He had looked distrustful at the idea, but agreed to see her sometime that evening about it. Harry hoped he actually meant it.  
  
Then, with a last kiss on the cheek, Harry left him to it and Flooed to Diagon Alley to meet Ron and Hermione for lunch. He had made sure to leave _before_ Draco put his gloves on and began teasing him about it, as he was one thousand percent certain the man had intended to do.  
  
He popped into the restaurant in a flash of green flames, and brushed some soot from his robes before joining his friends at a table in the corner.  
  
“Harry! It’s good to see you.” Hermione gave him a hug, and Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Hey mate, it’s been a while.”  
  
“Yeah, too long,” Harry said, knowing full well that while he’d seen the two of them _recently_, he hadn’t been fully present with them for a while now. “How’ve you both been?”  
  
“We’ve been good. I mean, work is stressful – like always – but nothing out of the ordinary.” Hermione gave him an exasperated smile. “I’ve been pushing some new legislation that would give werewolves access to specialized legal defense in court and also a counseling service that can provide them with advocacy and advice in everyday bias incidents.”  
  
Harry smiled. He had been happy for Hermione when she got accepted into the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but not as much as he felt now – seeing her in her element discussing it. Before coming back to Hogwarts, he hadn’t let himself feel _anything_ too intensely for a long time.  
  
“That’s great,” he said earnestly. “And Ron - how’s your work been?”  
  
“Eh, it’s been okay. You honestly might have been smart in declining the position though, because the past few weeks of night stake-outs have been kicking my arse.”  
  
“Yeah? What cases have you been working?” He usually didn’t ask - out of fear it would dredge up his own lingering regrets.  
  
“Oh, you know, just some illegal potions-dealers. The price of boomslang’s gone way up, so people have been substituting a volatile mixture of brooble toenails and passing it off as the real thing. We arrested a whole ring of them yesterday.”  
  
“That sounds…tedious.”  
  
As he said it, he realized that this time he actually meant it. Compared to demonstrating disarming spells for students, then dicking around with Draco, he really _didn’t_ feel jealous of Ron’s work.  
  
“Yeah mate, it’s bloody _back-breaking_. How many nights have I disillusioned myself to look like a wall and stood still for hours on end to watch our culprit prep standard, everyday potions? Hell, half of the time, they don’t even pull out their shadier ingredients, so it’s all luck really. But Kingsley better be giving me a raise for this last case. We didn’t sleep for three days!”  
  
Harry found himself laughing. “Did they feed you at least? Or did you have to settle for nibbles of confiscated ‘brooble toenails?’”  
  
“Har har, very funny.” But Ron was beaming back at him, and Hermione was smiling fondly, looking between the two.  
  
They chatted for a while more about the various humorous incidents within the Auror division, before Ron circled back to the inevitable topic at hand.  
  
“So…speaking of potions-brewers – how’s your favorite Slytherin?”  
  
Hermione shot him a warning glance.  
  
“He’s…fine,” Harry said.  
  
“Yeah? Judging by the news, you think he’s more than ‘fine’ – it’s a full out Romeo and Julia scenario in the _Prophet_, but with more Dark magic and treachery of course.”  
  
“Juli_et!_” Hermione corrected.  
  
“Yeah, that. Point is, it’s all made out to be very dramatic and star-crossed. I saw you were in Hogsmeade?”  
  
Harry scowled. “Glad to know you get all your updates about your best friend and his love life through the newspaper,” he said dryly.  
  
“Well, you don’t tell me anything! Least of all about your love life. Hell, I didn’t even know about you and Ginny splitting until she went mental over it.”  
  
The amusement dropped from Harry’s face. “I’m sorry about that. Really.”  
  
But Ron shrugged it off. “I know, mate. It’s okay. Just…remember we’re here for you.”  
  
Harry swallowed thickly. “I know that. I just…hell, do you really want me to chat with you about Draco? I mean, he’s _Draco_ – I feel like that’d be weirder for you than me saying nothing at all.”  
  
Ron gave him a wry grin. “Well, I don’t want you tell me about his _sexual prowess_ or anything – actually, please don’t tell me _anything_ sexual about Malfoy. Ever.”  
  
Hermione glared at him. “But…” she prompted.  
  
“Err, yeah. _But_ you clearly care for him, and we care for _you_, so of course we want to hear what’s going on in your life. Which, at the moment, seems to be Malfoy. Unfortunate, really.”  
  
“We love you, Harry,” Hermione cut in, when Ron’s pep talk seemed to flare and die. “So tell us how it’s going. Are you happy?”  
  
“Err…” Harry considered it. “Yeah. I think so. I mean, the news has been frustrating of course, but Draco himself-” he thought of the Slytherin curled up on his couch with a bowl of soup. “He’s great. I mean, really – I know that sounds like I’m making things up, given how he’s been before. But he’s actually very…devoted.”  
  
“I believe you,” Hermione said. “I mean, just because I haven’t seen that side of him doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”  
  
Ron chuckled. “He’s a pureblood - of course he’s going to be ‘devoted.’ One passing glance at someone, and your family has already planned your proposal, wedding, and joint burial site.”  
  
Harry laughed, but then sobered as he thought of Molly. “Your mum...err, well I haven’t ruined her plans, have I?”  
  
Ron rubbed at the back of his neck with a calculating expression. His heart sank. “Well, I mean, she’s not particularly _happy_ with you right now. I’m sure she’ll come around, of course… But for now at least, I wouldn’t plan your Christmas around The Burrow.”  
  
He sighed heavily. “Right.”  
  
“Of course, Hermione and I will visit!” he rushed to say. “I mean… Yeah, just not at home this time, mate.”  
  
Trying for levity, Harry joked, “I thought she’d already knit me like five jumpers though?”  
  
Ron’s face went a little green, but Hermione looked amused. “Err, well. Yes, yes she had. _However_...well, let’s just say that she used them in a creative form of revenge.”  
  
Harry furrowed his brow. “Revenge? What did she do?”  
  
“Err-”  
  
When Ron failed to get the words out, Hermione cut in. “She sent them to the Malfoy estate!”  
  
Harry blinked at her, totally at a loss. “She _what?_”  
  
“Oh Harry, she was being all huffy - the way she was when she believed I was ‘cheating on you in the Triwizard Tournament’ - ridiculous, really. And she was surrounding herself with all the articles about you and Malfoy, so in the end, she decided to send _them_ her stack of jumpers as a protest. You should’ve seen her when she came to that wild conclusion!”  
  
Harry opened his mouth several times to speak, but couldn’t think of an appropriate response.  
  
At his lack of reaction, she continued, “I mean, obviously, she knows they don’t approve. It was all over the papers. So it was partially a ‘Harry broke my heart by not marrying into this family,’ but _also_ a ‘however, you Malfoys better accept him with open arms and appreciate the blessing I have just lost’ sort of reasoning. Also, she thought it would just royally piss them off to receive mail from a Weasley.”  
  
“I told her not to do it,” Ron said quietly.  
  
Harry ran through a series of expressions and eventually landed on “amused horror.” After all, he could perfectly envision the look of disdain upon Lucius’ face when finding himself in possession of not one, but a _stack_ of Weasley-knit jumpers for _Harry_ of all people - whom he loathed and disapproved of for his son. It was great revenge against _him_; he only hoped it wouldn’t hurt Draco through these tenuous family ties.  
  
“And _when_ exactly did she do this?”  
  
“Oh, it was only a few days ago,” Hermione said. “They should have received them by now.”  
  
“Lovely. Merry Christmas to me.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Does she think I’m spending the _holidays_ at the Malfoy’s? Personally, I can’t imagine anything more terrifying. In fact, _that_ should’ve been my boggart.”  
  
“Your boggart?” Hermione’s eyes had narrowed with interest. “Have you faced a boggart recently?”  
  
Fuck. Hermione was too sharp. Harry wished he hadn’t said anything. “Err...well, we used one in our Halloween event. And so did the Slytherins.”  
  
“What did it change into? Oh Harry - it was probably something awful, wasn’t it? Were you okay?”  
  
It wasn’t only Hermione - Ron looked concerned as well. He had _made_ them concerned; it was his fault. This was why he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.  
  
“It was okay. I was fine.”  
  
Hermione cut into him with that sharp gaze that so often had made him cave and confess.  
  
“Okay, it...it changed into _me_, but...a me that was still possessed by Voldemort.”  
  
“Oh Harry,” she breathed, finding his hand on the table and wrapping it in her own. “That must have been hard to face.” Her eyes were soft and brown and somehow held no judgment for him, despite his weakness.  
  
He had thought the war was behind him now.  
  
But in order to move forward, he needed to let this out. He had to be more open about how he felt - he realized that now. If he didn’t, he would go on living the same miserable existence he had the past two years at The Burrow. He needed his friends to know what he was going through, so they could support him and lead him through it. And looking at that undying patience in Hermione’s eyes, he saw that she had been waiting for him to share this for a long time.  
  
“I…” he cleared his throat. “I had a panic attack when I saw it. I mean, it was also being used in a ‘haunted house’ sort of thing in the dungeons, and Draco pretended he was dying as part of the act - which really didn’t help things - but seeing the boggart was definitely a trigger. Draco talked me down from it and distracted me, but I know I’m still thinking about it.”  
  
As he spoke, Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened slightly. “Thank you for sharing this with us, Harry,” she said after a respectable silence. “I’m sorry that happened to you, but I’m glad Draco was there to help, and you weren’t hurt even more. It’s important to talk about these things instead of pushing them down inside.”  
  
“You’re right.” As he said it, he realized he believed it too. “I’m starting to get that now.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “Only took me twenty years.”  
  
She smiled. “Better late than never.” 

  


Harry returned to his room that afternoon, feeling oddly light. It had been such a relief to tell Hermione and Ron what was going on with him - stuff he usually trapped deep in his mind. They had been wonderful about it - of course - and he wondered what had held him back for so long.  
  
Perhaps it had been the difference in life stages. Hermione and Ron had gotten jobs at the Ministry right out of Hogwarts and fell suitably enough into adulthood to move out and start creating their own, independent lives. Harry, however, hadn’t been at that point. He hadn’t taken the job with the Aurors, and he certainly hadn’t had the initiative to find his own place and take care of himself in that self-questioning slump. He had felt at odds with his friends’ path, which hadn’t really changed until he too had taken on the responsibility of a career here at Hogwarts with teaching.  
  
If only he had taken a job sooner. But then, he figured that he had to have experienced the mistakes of these past two years in order to realize what he _did_ want after all. Moreover, he certainly hadn’t considered coming back to Hogwarts as a professor when he graduated, so somehow, time had pushed everything into place in that way that it was wont to do.  
  
And he wouldn’t have met Draco again. He didn’t want to be cheesy, but he knew that the fiendish blonde had a lot to do with his current happiness. For the first time since he was thirteen, Harry felt like, someday, he just might be okay.  
  
And that was a really nice feeling.  
  
When he knocked on Draco’s door and heard no answer, he figured the Slytherins must still be practicing. He headed for the pitch. If he hurried, he might get to see Draco in his full-geared glory once more.  
  
Walking across the windy slopes, though, he wished he had at least _one_ of Molly’s jumpers to keep him warm - he hadn’t even worn his heavier set of winter robes, since he had expected to stay inside.  
  
Harry reached the pitch, rubbing his hands together, and settled beneath the wooden stands out of sight. It wouldn’t be good to be _too_ indiscreet - especially after his chat with Minerva this morning.  
  
He caught sight of his almost-boyfriend.  
  
Draco was flying beautifully. Harry watched as he dove and blocked a quaffle from going in. Then, he spun and hit a bludger out of the way with a bat, seemingly playing multiple positions in this scrimmage. Merlin, he had gotten much better since when they played in school. When had that even happened? Now, Harry could only watch with fascination as Draco’s lithe form darted between students and hoops.  
  
As he was always so busy looking for the snitch, he hadn’t really gotten a chance to just watch Draco’s technique before. When he was racing for the snitch, he leaned far enough forward that he was pressing himself against the broom; however, when playing keeper and more stationary positions, he leaned back almost lazily, somehow able to keep his balance and look unflappable at the same time. He wasted no movements. And right now, he lounged in that alluringly confident posture: one hand lightly gripping his broom, one dangling the beater’s bat from long, gloved fingers.  
  
Harry swallowed hard. He really liked Draco’s hands in those gloves. And it wasn’t just the uniform itself - Ginny had worn the standard issue leather cut-off gloves all the time, but he had never been so fixated before. It was something about the gloves on _Draco_, the way they contrasted his posh demeanor, the way they made him seem gritty and dangerous.  
  
Merlin, Draco was right. He really did get off on seeing him as some dastardly criminal. But there was no chance Harry was telling him that.  
  
He kept watching the Slytherins practice until the sun sank level with the mountains in the distance. While talking with Ron and Hermione earlier had been freeing in one way, _this_ \- this time spent letting himself fantasize and want what he wanted - was easing tensions he hadn’t even recognized building within him. Harry had always believed himself to be an honest person; when had he gotten so _dis_honest with himself about thoughts and feelings in his own mind?  
  
And how had it taken _Draco_ fucking _Malfoy_ \- known liar and manipulator - to get him to open up?  
  
Nothing made sense anymore. But as an unfamiliar sense of calm washed over him, Harry decided that, for now, he was okay with life being mysterious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy New Year!!  
Man, I've felt so lucky that both Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve fell on Tuesdays - which I had coincidentally chosen as my weekly posting day without much thought in the beginning - as I've been able to "gift" you all new chapters for two separate holidays. It's wild that tonight marks the dawning of a new decade, and wilder still that my story has a place in the ending/beginning of your year. Thank you so much for all the love and support I've received for this story so far, and I look forward to seeing it through the rest of the way with you all! 
> 
> xoxo


	21. Afternoon Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: references to the war; a family member falls ill; references to homophobia

“Molly Weasley did _what?_”  
  
Harry tried to keep his expression neutral - it really _was_ a concerning topic after all - but for some reason, his lips kept wobbling into a smirk as he spoke. “She sent your father all the jumpers she knitted me for Christmas,” he repeated.  
  
He forced a straight face for about ten seconds, then broke.  
  
“And you are laughing about this _because?_” Draco grabbed him by the front of the shirt, but that only made Harry collapse in giggles against his chest.  
  
“I...I don’t know,” he said honestly between gasps. “Just the thought of your dad’s face.”  
  
Genuine alarm danced in Draco’s eyes at the reminder, and Harry felt awful.  
  
“I’m sorry, really. I know it’s not funny. But-” a bubble of hilarity rose to the surface unbidden, “I can just see him turning his nose up at the package and dropping it on the ground like he’d touched something awful and going ‘From the Weasleys? _Preposterous!_’”  
  
Now Draco was clearly fighting to stay serious himself. His scowl wavered, and he schooled his lips into a hard line.  
  
“And then,” Harry cackled, “he’d prod them disdainfully with his cane and set them on fire or something, then order his house elves to purify the spot the package touched, so it didn’t ‘taint the Manor with poverty’ or whatever.”  
  
“It’s not a cane, it’s a _walking stick_.” But Draco’s harsh expression was breaking into an amused smile.  
  
“‘_Narcissa dear, can you believe it? Those blood traitors dared sully my doorstep with these wool monstrosities! The yarn isn’t even flecked with gold._’”  
  
Draco shoved him off, laughing, though he seemed to want to smack Harry for making him. “You quarrelsome _git_.”  
  
“‘_In_ my _family, everyone wears clothes that have been carefully selected by the fashion designers at_ Witch Weekly _and blessed by the Minister himself!_”  
  
The blonde pushed him again, this time landing them both on the couch with legs tangled and Draco on top.  
  
“Is this your way of complimenting my style, Potter? There are more honest ways of doing so.” He leaned in and grazed his lips across Harry’s. The touch was searing, and altogether not enough.  
  
“I’m not complimenting-...” he huffed. “I’m saying you’re bloody _ridiculous_.”  
  
“For wearing clothes that fit me?”  
  
“For spending two hundred galleons on a pair of shoes.”  
  
“Mmm,” Draco kissed his neck. “_Three_ hundred. They were an exclusive series of dragon hide. Antipodean Opaleye.” He drew back an inch. “And I’m surprised you knew that.”  
  
Harry looked away with a noncommittal sound.  
  
But Draco pulled back further and narrowed his eyes. “I got those boots fourth year, and you _definitely_ couldn’t spot designer brands then.” He raised a haughty brow. “You looked up my shoes, didn’t you?”  
  
He could feel his face turning crimson. “_No_. I just...I guessed!”  
  
A gleeful smirk stretched across Draco’s face. “You _totally_ did. Merlin, Potter, _fourth year?_ I thought you ‘weren’t interested’ in me until a few weeks ago?”  
  
“They were really flashy and pretentious!” he protested. “So I asked around the dorm, _if you must know_.” Harry was squirming under the man’s scrutinizing gaze. How many more embarrassing revelations from the past would he have to weather during the course of dating Draco?  
  
“And speaking of fourth year,” he added, “your buttons _sucked!_”  
  
Draco let out a surprised chuckle. “What, the ‘Potter Stinks’ ones?”  
  
Harry glared. “Yeah, ha ha, very creative. If anything, the fact that you made those buttons proved that back then _you_ were the one obsessed with _me_.”  
  
“I don’t deny it.”  
  
Draco’s words cut right through his burgeoning triumph. He sucked in a deep breath.  
  
“You mean even fourth year-”  
  
“I’m not playing this game, Harry,” Draco interrupted. “I told you that.” Though his smirk remained in place, his jaw had tensed, and he stared at Harry with resolute, fathomless eyes. If Harry pushed, it would only make him cross.  
  
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Then here’s a different subject: are you going to stay over, now that Minerva’s given you permission to Floo?”  
  
The tension melted from Draco’s face, and he smiled smugly. “She did, didn’t she?”  
  
He had gone to see her after practice and appeared through Harry’s fireplace a half hour later with a grin on his face. It had filled him with a strange yet overwhelming sense of pride. After all, Draco had been so convinced she wouldn’t let him, and he had still gone anyway.  
  
“Yeah, so there’s no need to sneak - _poorly_, I might add - through Gryffindor Tower tomorrow morning and be seen by all our students.” Harry laughed.  
  
Draco’s cheeks pinkened a bit. “Yes, well, we don’t all have _invisibility cloaks_ to wear around the castle and break school rules with.”  
  
The Slytherin was still a little bitter after hearing about that one, and Harry hadn’t even gotten around to revealing the Marauder’s Map. If he told Draco about the map, then he would have to admit to stalking him with it.  
  
There would be time for such things once his pride healed a bit.  
  
“Yet you definitely would if you did. So are you staying, or what?”  
  
Draco kissed him soundly. “Of course.”

  


They woke late, and only when the slanted sunbeams prodded their eyes open, too bright to ignore. Harry grumbled, disentangling his leg – that, at some point in the night, had wound its way between Draco’s thighs – and rubbed his face with a tingling hand that he had excavated from under the blonde’s pointy shoulder. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, smiling at the still-new sensation of waking up next to Draco.  
  
Then, his smile shifted into a frown. “Shit, we’re late.”  
  
Draco mumbled something unintelligible and disappeared under the covers completely.  
  
“No, fuck, we’re really late!” Harry threw back the bedding and stumbled over Draco to his dresser. The blonde groaned in protest, eyes flying open only when his clothes hit him in the chest. “Get dressed or we’re going to miss breakfast!”  
  
“Make me,” he mumbled petulantly. But he did sit up and start pulling his shirt on half-heartedly. His hair was tousled and catching the slatted light from the window in a way that made him look soft and golden and gorgeous and-  
  
Harry tripped over his trunk and descended in a shower of curses. This wasn’t the time to be waxing poetic over Draco fucking Malfoy, his almost-maybe-boyfriend, whom he would definitely see again after breakfast and classes.  
  
“Are you getting ready here or do you need to get stuff from yours?” he called over his shoulder, shooting toothpaste onto his toothbrush (and most of the counter as well).  
  
Draco shook his head blearily. “Fuck, you’re right. I need to get new clothes.” He grabbed the rest of his discarded garments and staggered towards the fireplace. With a swipe of his wand, he opened the Floo and stepped in. “Meet you down there.”  
  
Harry brushed his teeth messily and rapidly, attempting to comb his hair down with his fingers as he went. His reflection gaped back, damp and untidy. _Fuck_, this was why he needed reminders from Minerva about how to be an adult – Draco made him lose the little bit of sense he started with. He threw on some robes as he dashed out into Gryffindor Tower and sprinted towards the Great Hall. 

  


Harry could see the exact moment Minerva’s face shifted from stern to wide-eyed surprise to customary disappointment, as he burst through the double doors in back - coincidentally at the _exact same_ moment Draco burst through the side door. They stared at each other a moment in shock.  
  
Then, as Harry stumbled down the aisle, Draco at least had the presence of mind to square his shoulders and walk calmly to the front table like it _wasn’t_ a rumor-worthy incident. For the first time in his life, Harry wished he’d had some semblance of etiquette training, if it could save him from looking like the bumbling buffoon he was.  
  
They came around the staff table on opposite sides, which meant they then had to walk _towards_ each other for a few horribly long and awkward seconds in which they had no choice but to make eye contact before the entire school, then sat down at the two empty seats right next to each other. Harry knew his face was bright red, and it only grew worse when he saw Minerva swivel and level him a glare before turning back to her toast.  
  
“That went well,” Harry whispered, utterly mortified.  
  
Draco snorted and reached for the eggs. 

  


The one mercy was that Harry made it to class on time, and even had a few minutes to look over his notes on dementors, which were rather incomplete and rushed, and he only hoped would take up a full hour. If all went to hell, he could easily regale them with stories of all the times he had quite literally _run into_ dementors over the years.  
  
The fourth years streamed into the room in clumps. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Some still broke into whispers at seeing him, undoubtedly helped along by his stunt at breakfast not half an hour ago. He noticed Sam come in and gave him a small smile and nod.  
  
When most everyone was there, Harry gave his perfunctory “Yeah, yeah, take your seats,” and closed the door with a flick of his wand. He still had no idea what he was doing really (at any given time), but he’d quickly figured out that people listened more when he pretended.  
  
“Okay, so today we’re talking about dementors,” Harry announced. “Does anyone know what they are already?” He glanced around the room.  
  
A girl in front raised her hand.  
  
“Patricia.”  
  
“Well, they’re the guards of Azkaban…well, er, former guards that is.”  
  
“True. Very good.” Harry pointed at the board with his wand, and “former guards of Azkaban” appeared as a bullet point in his messy scrawl. “Anything else you know about them?”  
  
Sam hesitantly raised his hand, and Harry pointed to him.  
  
“They…well, they suck out your soul. If you’re Kissed.”  
  
Several students looked surprised that he was giving an earnest answer rather than sass today. But Harry proceeded with a neutral expression, spelling the information onto the board, without drawing more attention to him.  
  
“Also true. Now, who here has _seen_ a dementor before?”  
  
He was dismayed to see that almost all of them had. Not that it was surprising. While the fourth years hadn’t been at Hogwarts when dementors had been stationed here in search of Sirius, most of them _had_ been at the school during the Death Eaters’ takeover. Looking around at their young faces, he felt his chest constrict.  
  
“Right,” he managed. “Well, let’s go over the basics first as a review, then we can get into some theories behind their existence and proceed from there.”  
  
Though the students were more respectful and engaged than ever – which he attributed to his “honesty session” with their specific class – his notes only got him through about twenty minutes. He cursed his meager preparations as he fumbled through the parchment on his desk to stall for time.  
  
“And that’s…err, why stunning spells don’t work on them, and…um…”  
  
“Can we try a _patronus_, sir?” one boy asked.  
  
Harry was a bit relieved for the interruption, though the question surprised him. “Oh. Well, I was planning to start going over summoning a _patronus_ starting next week, but…” He glanced back down at his pitiful lesson plan. “Sure, why not? If you all feel like you’re ready.”  
  
There was a chorus of affirmative answers, and he nodded several times, flashing through Lupin’s lessons in his mind. When he was struggling in front of a class, he always pretended to be Lupin.  
  
“Alright, wands out? To start, the incantation is: _expecto patronum_.” 

  


“Draco! Draco, you won’t believe it!” Harry skidded around the corner and knocked twice in quick succession before throwing the door open. Draco hadn’t been in his office, so he had to be in his room.  
  
He was three steps into the chamber before he stopped in his tracks. Draco was indeed in his room, but he wasn’t alone. Narcissa Malfoy sat stiffly across from him in one of the old armchairs, tea paused halfway to her lips. In an awkward mirror of her posture, Draco sat ramrod straight in his seat, cup and saucer held tightly in his hands.  
  
For a long moment, no one said anything.  
  
Draco recovered first. “Harry.” His voice was caught between familiar and oddly polite.  
  
“I can…go?”  
  
He didn’t know why it came out as a question. He should _most definitely_ go, while he was still mobile and standing and not trapped in whatever family feud had them locked in their seats in some horrible game of false courtesy.  
  
“Alright,” Draco said at the same time Narcissa said, “No, please stay.” They glared at one another, fake smiles stretching across their faces.  
  
“No, no,” Draco continued, voice sickly sweet, “Harry and I can talk later. _You_, on the other hand, came all the way here to visit, so let’s carry on with tea.”  
  
Narcissa smiled back, even more brightly. “No, no, I have no intention of interrupting your routine. In fact, I’ve been meaning to find a time to chat with Harry-” At this, she swiftly turned towards him, “Is it alright if I call you Harry, dear?”  
  
Harry was too puzzled by the situation to do anything other than nod. He was getting stressed just _watching_.  
  
“Splendid,” Narcissa continued. “As I was saying, I’ve been meaning to find a time to chat with Harry and yourself, make pleasantries and the like.”  
  
Draco arched a brow sardonically. “And what makes you confident that it’ll be _pleasant?_”  
  
She pursed her lips, but so minutely, Harry barely noticed the change. He still wasn’t sure whether he should be coming in and sitting or walking the fuck out of there before things went volcanic; therefore, he was left standing there like an idiot until one of them ordered him to do something.  
  
_Which path should a supportive almost-boyfriend take?_  
  
“Draco, while your father may wish to argue and antagonize regarding your recent decisions, _I_ am here to do neither. While I don’t expect to be thanked for this, I do expect you to at least act civilly and endure a few questions over tea.” She punctuated her sentence by placing her cup and saucer on the table with a challenge in her eyes.  
  
Harry felt weirdly compelled to break into applause after her little speech, which he was thankfully smart enough _not_ to do. However, when she levelled her gaze on him and invited him once more to sit, he immediately obeyed.  
  
Though, he did sit in the chair next to Draco as a show of moral support.  
  
Draco’s expression remained stony throughout. When it became clear that he was not going to further the conversation, Harry broke in with an awkward, “Erm, how’ve you been...Missus Malfoy?”  
  
Narcissa had the breeding and etiquette not to laugh outright, though her eyes did sparkle with amusement. “Oh, please call me Narcissa. I’ve been well, Harry. And yourself?” She took a small sip of tea as if this were a normal encounter and not the beginnings of an even larger disaster.  
  
“Uhh, good. Yeah, pretty decent really. Not that teaching’s been easy, but it’s also not the worst…which is good?” Babbling. He was _babbling_.  
  
“I imagine. Though I have full faith that you’re doing a wonderful job.”  
  
Harry glanced over at Draco to pick up any hints about his mother’s sincerity – or even just what to say next – and caught a dramatic eye roll at the previous statement.  
  
As the awkward third party though, he felt compelled to manufacture peace between them. “Draco’s been doing really well at teaching too! Probably better than me, to be honest,” he said.  
  
Narcissa arched a brow, and Harry couldn’t help but notice the resemblance. “Is that so? I’d love to hear more about my son’s accomplishments, but unfortunately, he never writes or keeps me in the loop.”  
  
She landed her accusation with the same placid smile.  
  
Draco snorted. “Yes, well, you and Father have made it _so very easy_ to want to tell you things.”  
  
Narcissa made a show of looking over at him with surprise. “Oh, Draco dear! I had all but forgotten you were here. After all, you showed no interest, I believe, in ‘chatting over tea.’” Her face molded into an innocent smile. “Unless, you’ve changed your mind?”  
  
Draco scowled and fell back into moody silence, staring past her as if she wasn’t there.  
  
“I thought not,” Narcissa commented. “Now Harry, please go on telling me about how you’re settling in. I heard you were made Head of House – congratulations!”  
  
Frankly, Harry had no idea what was going on, but felt it would be rude to remain silent, so he chattered on. “Err, yeah. It’s fine.” He was terribly overwhelmed by this whole ordeal and looked back at Draco for some clue of what to do next.  
  
The blonde seemed to take pity on him this time. “Mother, don’t harass him. Why don’t you get to the real reason you’re here?”  
  
Narcissa folded her hands in her lap, suddenly very still. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Draco.”  
  
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yes, actually, you do. In this very elusive and roundabout way, you intend to inspect how ‘suitable’ Harry is, and whether he has the capability to acclimate to _your_ way of life. You want to know how _serious_ I am. So I’m not interested in _what_ you’re doing here, but - as I was already struck from the inheritance - the question is _why?_”  
  
She analyzed him for a long moment, her glittering eyes flicking to Harry once or twice. “And if I were to ask those questions about your relationship? What might you answer?”  
  
“I’m always serious. Now answer _my_ question.”  
  
Harry’s heart thundered in his chest.  
  
“Very well.” Narcissa sighed heavily, draining some of her poise. “While it is true that your father removed you from his will, and therefore, the Malfoy inheritance…that may not be the case forever.”  
  
“And why is that?” Draco’s voice was hard, but undercut with confusion.  
  
She faced him squarely. “Lucius is not doing well.”  
  
There was a moment of silence, in which Harry could feel panic building with Draco. His own heart sunk, not out of pity for Lucius, but bearing the familiar, heavy weight of having lost his parents. He would not wish it on anyone.  
  
“What? _Why?_” Draco demanded at last.  
  
Though it was clearly hard for her to say, Narcissa did not look away. “He is still feeling the effects of Dark spells that he cast and ones cast on him. That much has been the case for a long time, though his time in Azkaban only aggravated it. He, of course, kept this hidden from you, despite my urgings, out of pride.”  
  
Draco ran a hand roughly down his face. “Fuck.”  
  
She winced. “Draco dear, don’t-”  
  
“I can fucking _curse_ if I want to!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the table. Narcissa’s eyes widened a fraction, and Harry rushed to lay his hand on Draco’s shoulder, but he was already standing up to pace.  
  
“What, you find my reactions _vulgar?_ Does it make you _upset?_” He swiveled to face her with white-knuckled fury. “You know what makes _me_ upset? Having a father who’s an absolute _arse!_ A father who would kick his own son out for being gay – not because it mattered, not because it was even all that _surprising_, but because it would ‘_look bad for the family_.’ A father who would write malicious things in the papers about me, send you as a peace offering, and then reveal _that he’s dying_ in some cruel, conniving plan to make me forgive him. Well, _fuck_ that!”  
  
Draco was heaving, red pinpricks upon his cheeks. Harry had paused, half out of his seat with his hands up as if to calm a wild animal. He wanted to help, to comfort him – but he knew Draco would hate that in front of his mother. The man had worked too hard to seem collected and unbreakable in front of his family.  
  
“Perhaps I should go,” Narcissa spoke after a pause. She gathered her things with precision and swept towards the Floo. Before going, she glanced back over her shoulder one last time. Sadness swelled in her eyes – the first earnest emotion Harry had seen from her tonight. “I am sorry, Draco. Please come talk when you’re ready.”  
  
She left in a flash of flames.  
  
As soon as she was gone, Harry rushed to Draco, who just stood there gasping like he couldn’t fully breathe. Harry pulled him into a hug, crushing him against his chest and rubbing circles on his back. Draco continued to heave until Harry worried he might pass out, but then he felt the icy fingers tighten on his shoulders and the first shuddering sob hit. He clung tighter to the man in front of him – the one who had come to mean so much – and let him fall apart in his arms.  
  
Usually so tightly contained, Draco’s body _shook_ with the force of his released emotions. He sobbed and gagged and hyperventilated until it became longer and longer in between each gasp and hiccough. When he had enough breath to speak, he began muttering, “I can’t forgive him. I just can’t.”  
  
“Hey,” Harry drew away gently, so that he could take Draco’s hand. “It’s okay. You don’t _have_ to forgive him. It’s okay.”  
  
Draco finally looked up at him. Tearstains smeared down his sharply-angled cheeks, and Harry couldn’t help but remember that fateful day he’d found him in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. It was the only other time he’d seen him cry.  
  
This time, however, Draco had _let_ him see. The depth of that trust made him quake with responsibility. And he realized then that he would do anything to help Draco.  
  
Harry tugged him softly towards the bed, pushing him back against the pillows and slipping next to him on his side. Draco offered no resistance and merely stared past his shoulder in shock.  
  
But that was okay. Harry would be there with him when he returned.  
  
He wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for reading and welcome to the new decade! Hopefully you all had a better New Years than I did, as the past few weeks have been simply a series of unfortunate events in my life, and this story and the wonderful comments and feedback have been one of the few bright points amidst this frustrating time. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry to end the chapter on a sad note, but I will say that despite this, my story is still predominantly a light and humorous one - I swear! There's some fun things in the works, so stay tuned.
> 
> Also, a citation: "It's not a cane, it's a walking stick" was actually a line from the 6th movie when Draco is getting searched upon arriving at Hogwarts, and, needless to say, it's my FAVORITE line. I'm blessed to have had a chance to work it into my story. That is all. 
> 
> xoxo


	22. Another Day, Another Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: discussing war trauma and ill family members; oral sex; anal sex; sub/dom themes

The next morning, unlike the previous, they woke early. Rather, when Harry woke, he found Draco already awake, staring back at him with red-rimmed eyes.  
  
He tried for humor. “Do you always watch me sleep?”  
  
Draco stared blankly for a second before a familiar wry expression cracked across his face. “Yes, it’s my life’s ambition, Harry. Who _wouldn’t_ want to watch the Savior of the Universe in his natural state of unawareness?” His voice was creaky from crying last night, which Harry desperately told himself was serious and not sexy at all.  
  
“Well, you do it an awful lot, despite your sarcasm.” Harry thumbed some strands of blonde hair from Draco’s eyes, and he leaned into the touch, so Harry began tracing the harsh curve of his cheekbone with calming swipes.  
  
“It’s not my intention,” Draco mumbled. He seemed quite honest for once. “It’s just really hard to look away.”  
  
Harry chuckled, smile stretching his cheeks almost painfully. “When did you become such a Hufflepuff?”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Forgive me, I thought we had worked past that phase of desperately ignoring our feelings until they coalesce into un-repressible, overwhelming outbursts. Merlin forbid!”  
  
Harry poked at his cheek. “Oh, so now you have _feelings?_”  
  
Draco batted his hand away. “Fuck-…You know what? No. I’ve never had feelings. I’m a war-hardened criminal. Is that what you want me to say?”  
  
“Only in a different context,” Harry said, which caused Draco’s eyebrows to shoot up and his cheeks to pinken.  
  
“If I’m a Hufflepuff, then you’re definitely a Slytherin,” he murmured. Draco rolled onto his back, and Harry settled against him, his head on Draco’s shoulder. Mindlessly, the blonde started carding his fingers through Harry’s tangled locks.  
  
After a moment, Harry spoke. “Seriously though, how are you doing?”  
  
Draco heaved a sigh, and he could feel the immense depth of it from his perch. “Not great,” he said earnestly.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” He rubbed slow circles on Draco’s other hand which lay across his chest. “You know, when I first came in, I honestly thought your mom was there about the jumpers.”  
  
Draco laughed, a shaky, breathless thing. “Yeah, I thought that at first too. It would’ve been much more manageable that way.” He attempted to smooth the cowlick that Harry had learned to give up on at age ten. “She didn’t even mention the jumpers, now that I think about it. Unfortunate really, I was hoping the fallout was close to your impression of it.”  
  
Making fun of Lucius had been so much more entertaining without the metaphorical noose around his neck.  
  
“I’m sure it was. My impressions are really good,” he teased, not wanting to drag them both down again so soon.  
  
Draco swallowed and was quiet for a long moment. “I…don’t know if it’s sunk in yet, to be honest. I mean, he’s always been such an imposing, influential presence, I can’t imagine a world where he’s not there. In the Manor. Looking down his nose at whatever letter he’s received from the Ministry. Taking tea in the garden and sending it back if it’s not perfectly steeped.” He broke into a wet laugh. “Generally being a pompous git.”  
  
“But?” Harry prompted. He could see that Draco was struggling to contextualize the love he still felt - and felt ashamed of.  
  
“But he’s my _father_,” Draco said wearily. “I spent so much of my life trying to make him proud, trying to _be_ him. Even now, when I’ve worked so hard to be independent, to not _care_ so bloody much…” He rubbed at his eyes.  
  
“It’s okay to feel complicated about it, family _is_ complicated,” Harry said. _Even when you’ve never met them_, he thought.  
  
“I just wish he could be healthy so I could go back to hating him.”  
  
Harry felt Draco’s body tighten, out of emotion or out of guilt, and he hugged him. It was all he could do. He realized that, for the first time, he was being relied on to comfort someone else and not the other way around; Hermione and Ron had always been there for him to vent to, but they had rarely relied on him in the same manner. They found comfort in each other. They didn’t want to be a burden on him after he had been through so much.  
  
But now, Draco _needed_ his comfort. He was just as burdened and alone as Harry, and deserved better reassurance than Harry knew how to give. It made him feel both important and terrified.  
  
“I think it’s okay to both hate and love someone at the same time,” he said at last. He looked up at Draco, who was regarding him curiously. “I mean-” he rushed on, “that’s how I feel about Dumbledore.”  
  
Draco flinched at the name. “Why…hate? You were always flaunting how close you were.”  
  
“Well…” Harry knew that only a select few people other than Ron and Hermione knew the truth behind Dumbledore’s plan. It wasn’t something he liked to explain.  
  
“Did you know about…the horcruxes?” he asked tentatively.  
  
Draco’s lips drew tighter together, but he nodded. Good - one less thing to explain then.  
  
“Well, Dumbledore knew… I mean, he suspected that _I_ was the final horcrux. From early on. So all along, all that time growing up and talking with him, he knew I would have to die by Voldemort’s hand. That night in the forest – I _died_, did you know that?”  
  
Draco had gone eerily pale, but once more, he nodded. “Not at the time, but later,” he whispered. “Mother told me.”  
  
Harry nodded. “Yes, so anyway, after everything was over, I was left to reconcile the Headmaster I knew and loved - and _trusted_ \- for so much of my life with the man who knowingly raised me to die. It’s not pleasant nor easy to think about, and harder still to come to any sort of conclusion. And, ultimately, I gave up on trying.” He glanced up at Draco, whose hands had stilled in the air above Harry’s head. “What is it?”  
  
Draco drew in a shaky breath. “Sometimes, I’m just reminded that I really don’t deserve to touch you.”  
  
Harry turned, grabbing his hands and holding them against his chest. Draco winced. “That’s not true.”  
  
But his eyes were squeezed closed as if in pain. “Yes, Harry, it is. You’re telling me these parts of your past as if I was a neutral third party, but I _wasn’t_. We both know I was there in the thick of it – just on the wrong side.” He swallowed hard. “And if your feelings about…about _Dumbledore_ are complicated because of your mutual past, then I can only see the mess of complications you must feel for _me_, who tried to _kill him_.”  
  
He made to pull his hands away, but Harry wouldn’t let him.  
  
“Draco, it’s alright-”  
  
“Harry, please. It’s _not_.”  
  
He felt a rush of desperation at the thought of losing Draco this way to the ferocious hunger of their troubled past. Harry _needed_ to find the right words – judging by the despair lancing across Draco’s face, this may be his only chance.  
  
“Fine! Okay, it’s _not_ alright.” Draco stilled beneath his words. “There are some things that will _never_ be ‘alright.’”  
  
He drew back, sitting up, but still not letting go of Draco’s hands.  
  
“Like it will _never_ be alright that people supported Voldemort. And it will _never_ be alright that Dumbledore raised me to kill Voldemort and die. So, similarly, there are things that I will _never_ be able to forgive you for.”  
  
Harry did not look away, and he did not stop when the pain in those deep, grey eyes became almost unbearable. They _needed_ to address these things and communicate before moving forward. If Harry had to dig open old wounds once more, then so be it.  
  
“I can’t forgive you for calling Hermione a ‘mudblood.’ And I can’t forgive you for trying to get Hagrid fired – and for sentencing Buckbeak to death. I can’t forgive you for the things you said about the Weasleys and how anyone less than a filthy rich pureblood could ever be of value. I can’t forgive you for what you said about my parents.  
  
“I _won’t_ forgive you for these things, because I _shouldn’t_ forgive you for them, and because I know your guilt will remind you not to do them ever again.”  
  
He took hold of Draco’s left wrist, rolling his cuff out of the way in one deft pull. “Your Mark I forgive you for, because it wasn’t a choice. Voldemort would have killed you like he killed so many others. I forgive you for Dumbledore, because you couldn’t go through with it.”  
  
Draco’s jaw was trembling, but his eyes had not left Harry’s.  
  
“That’s why I’m saying it’s _okay_. Things are never _not_ going to be complicated, Draco. Not for you, not for me, and certainly not for both of us together. That doesn’t mean we can’t find new paths and comforts in the aftermath.” Finally, he let himself caress Draco’s cheek, willing him to understand this tenderness that lived between the violent slashes of their history.  
  
For a long moment, Draco said nothing. In the space of that silence, Harry’s heart pounded faster and faster in the terror that he would still leave him. That he had provoked him in the wrong way - that his words hadn’t been enough.  
  
At last, Draco spoke. “I really don’t deserve you.” His voice was creaky and thick, but affectionate rather than despairing, and that warmed Harry’s heart more than anything he could imagine.  
  
He let himself collapse onto the blonde and wrapped his arms around him tightly. “You’re a mess, I’m a mess – we deserve each other.” 

  


After a shower, some cosmetic charms, and a few more sappy comments, they made their way to breakfast. Harry didn’t have the heart to leave him – even for a few minutes – so they walked into the Great Hall together. There were plenty of rumors already, so there was really no point in pretending anymore – he’d have to talk with Minerva more later; this relationship was a learning process for everyone, it seemed.  
  
As they sat and fixed some toast, Draco suddenly exclaimed, “I never heard what you wanted to tell me yesterday! You were so excited about something.”  
  
Harry thought back, not quite remembering himself. It seemed like a lifetime ago.  
  
“Oh, that’s right! Some of my fourth year students were able to produce a partial _patronus!_”  
  
Draco’s knife paused in spreading jam. His eyes were wide. “_Really?_ That’s…rather impressive.”  
  
“I know, right? I wasn’t even planning to start working with them on that until next week, but I ran out of material – don’t give me that look – and so it just worked out that way. But they were really dedicated to practicing, so I didn’t even have to do much.”  
  
“That’s incredible - really.” Draco had turned back to his toast, spreading jam in a perfectly even layer across the top. “And they were able to get the hang of it within _one_ class period, you say?” He was avoiding eye contact, and he licked his lips nervously.  
  
Harry got a sudden inkling as to what this was about. “Draco…” he started gently, “have you not learned how to cast a _patronus?_”  
  
The blush that rose to the blonde’s cheeks all but answered for him. “It’s not that I haven’t _learned_,” he responded pointedly.  
  
“Oh Draco, I’m-”  
  
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he hissed, and Harry realized it was the second time he’d said that in the past few weeks.  
  
“Alright then. Why don’t you come by my next class and see if some practice won’t help?”  
  
Draco stiffened, undoubtedly remembering his father and all the stressful things going on right now. But Harry knew there was never an _easy_ time to learn to summon such happiness; it didn’t make it less important of a skill.  
  
“Okay,” Draco said at last, taking a bite from his immaculate toast.

  


They had dueling club that night, and for the first time since its inception, Flitwick was unable to attend. Which meant, combined with Draco’s presence there, Harry was actually _happy_ about his extracurricular responsibilities today. The thought was shocking.  
  
“Alright everyone, today we’re going to do something a little different. Draco-...er, _Mister Malfoy_ that is, suggested that we try getting a little creative with countercurses and blocking.” He heard several students giggling at his slip-up, and he continued with a rapidly reddening face. “We were thinking of working in pairs and practicing not a _specific_ spell, but whatever spell you think could be useful in the moment.”  
  
Harry gestured towards Draco. “For example, if we were dueling-”  
  
“As we usually are,” Draco quipped.  
  
Harry continued, ignoring both him and the laughs he had generated. “If we were dueling, and I see him about to cast something deadly, I could use the silencing charm to lessen if not stop the effects. Or, if _Mister Malfoy_ saw something heavy behind me, he could try summoning it and seeing if it would knock me off balance - things like that. The goal is to surprise your opponent.” He turned towards Draco. “Anything to add?”  
  
The Slytherin’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “No. Stunning explanation, _Professor_ Potter,” he replied silkily.  
  
_How could he make such a simple title sound so dirty?_  
  
Harry tried not to trip over his own feet as he scowled fiercely and walked away to pair up the students. Once everyone was partnered, him and Draco made their rounds through the room, mitigating any spell damage and encouraging the bold moves that seemed to work. Harry was particularly impressed with one student who had charmed the floor sticky, then cast a wind spell to knock their partner down into it.  
  
When it was clear that everyone had settled into a rhythm - and no one was going to die if they turned away for a second - Harry made his way over to Draco to challenge him.  
  
“Want to give it a go, Malfoy?”  
  
Draco smirked. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific, _Professor_.”  
  
Harry choked. “You know what I meant.”  
  
“Perhaps. But are you sure that’s wise?” His wand was already held in a loose, confident grip by his side.  
  
“What, why?”  
  
Draco snorted, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You know how our little duels get me going, Potter.”  
  
Harry gasped and pushed him away, face blooming with color again. “J-just fight me already!” He brandished his wand at Draco, who merely chuckled and leveled his at Harry’s chest.  
  
“Fine. Have it your way then.” His wrist twitched. “_Levicorpus!_”  
  
“_Protego!_ You’re supposed to be creative, remember? No typical dueling spells.”  
  
“Oh, I can be creative. _Aguamenti!_”  
  
Harry was startled enough by the spell choice that he forgot to block. Cold water sluiced over his head and down his robes. “What the _hell_ did that do?”  
  
Draco managed to keep a straight face. “Made you wet.”  
  
Harry was going to punch him. He swore he would punch him.  
  
“_Accio_ textbook!”  
  
He watched in satisfaction as Draco barely ducked the heavy tome in time. Harry caught the textbook in his free hand, only to be hit with “_Epoximise!_” which bonded it there to his palm.  
  
Flapping his hand wildly to dislodge it - causing pages to flutter everywhere - he cast an _impedimenta_ on the advancing blonde. Several students were pausing their own duels to turn and watch.  
  
Draco blocked it with a lazy wave of his wand. “I thought we weren’t using ‘typical dueling spells?’ _Incarcifors!_”  
  
The desk closest to Harry twisted and reared up on its legs, bending and stacking with the one next to it to cage him in. _Fuck_ \- he hadn’t known Draco was so skilled at transfiguration.  
  
Unless he worked fast, he would lose. “_Orchideous maxima!_”  
  
Hundreds of flowers burst from his wand and tumbled through the air, obscuring everyone’s vision. “_Avifors!_” Harry cast in succession, watching as petals stretched into wings, birds forming as they fell, and directed them at Draco.  
  
As Harry stared into the surprise etched on Draco’s face, he remembered their last duel - the quills he sent stabbing into the man’s leg, watching Draco pull each one out after with a quiet wince.  
  
He snapped his wand in an arc at the last second, redirecting the birds to swirl around the blonde in a vortex. Caging him in without touching him.  
  
By now the whole club had stopped to watch, staring at the two men huffing at each other in their respective magical prisons. Harry forced himself to calm down, to let go of the competitiveness that possessed him whenever Draco was involved. The need to beat him. He drew in a shaky breath, shivering as he remembered he was still soaking wet.  
  
If he just tightened the bird’s formation, he could win-  
  
“It’s a draw,” he said at last, and whisked the birds out of existence with an irritated flick of his wand.  
  
Similarly, Draco reversed the spell on the desks, his eyes glittering in triumph. Harry had always beat him in duels before. This time, however, his feelings had gotten in the way.  
  
But if Draco’s molten gaze was anything to go by, he might have won something even better.

  


Harry had barely closed the door to his room before Draco was pressing him against it, kissing him. His hands were like fire against Harry’s cold flesh, and he felt himself warming beneath the touch.  
  
“Merlin, let me dry off first,” he panted, holding Draco’s wrists away from him for a moment to pull his wet shirt over his head. The move, however, did nothing to discourage Draco.  
  
“_Fuck_, you’re beautiful.” His eyes were black as he ran his hands down Harry’s chest.  
  
“I thought you weren’t allowed to curse,” Harry mused with a smirk.  
  
Draco recoiled sharply from where he had leaned in to lap at Harry’s nipple. “Are you seriously bringing up my _mother_ right now?”  
  
Harry laughed, which quickly turned into a groan as Draco pinched the sensitive nub in retaliation. “I like when you curse,” he mumbled. “You’re so disgustingly posh the rest of the time.”  
  
Draco grinned like a shark. “Don’t get cheeky. You _love_ that I’m posh. Me just standing next to you adds class that you could never otherwise obtain.”  
  
“Fuck you, Draco.” But he was smiling indulgently.  
  
After joking about Narcissa, however, he couldn’t help his thoughts from flying to Lucius. His stomach tied itself in a knot. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to...you know?” he asked.  
  
Draco’s expression cooled for a moment. Then, he leaned in rather suddenly and sucked on Harry’s neck. “Distractions are nice,” he whispered. “Can you give that to me?”  
  
Harry swallowed, and the blonde’s fingers traced the line of his throat. His pulse was racing. “I can do that,” he croaked.  
  
Draco drew back with a smirk that did not quite erase the affection in his eyes. “Good.” Then his wand was pressed to Harry’s chest, tracing patterns against his sternum as Draco cast drying and warming charms.  
  
Water steamed off him in languid curls, and combined with the heat pooling in his core, he was suddenly _too_ hot. Draco’s gaze was scorching him, and he wanted nothing more than to give in and burn. Then the wand was trailing up his collarbone, up his neck, coming to rest just under his chin, where, with a slight pressure, Draco had his head lolling back, forcing him to gaze up his nose at the man who had him pinned. He could feel the thrum of Draco’s magic warming the length of hawthorne.  
  
“Is this what you want, Harry?” His voice was a seductive whisper, but soft as well.  
  
Harry tried to nod, but the wand dug into him, sending a delicious spike of adrenaline down his spine. “Yes,” he whispered back.  
  
Draco nodded, back straightening, smirk stretching his perfect lips. “Then take it off,” he ordered.  
  
Harry’s cock leapt at the demanding tone. He struggled to unclasp his belt and undo his jeans at wandpoint, dropping them to the floor as soon as they were free. Draco raised an eyebrow, and after a slight hesitation, Harry stepped out of his pants as well.  
  
Then he was standing completely naked. Gooseflesh rose on his arms from both the chill and the Slytherin’s unflinching perusal of his body. The man’s smirk widened when it landed on Harry’s engorged member.  
  
“Looks like I’m not the only one affected by our little duels.”  
  
Harry’s face burned in embarrassment, but the kind he wanted to drown in forever. He wanted Draco’s eyes searing into him like this _always_, never looking away. He wanted his undivided attention.  
  
“On your knees, Potter.”  
  
Harry visibly shuddered, falling to his knees without a modicum of shame or grace. He reached for Draco’s trousers, and was pushed back with a tut. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?”  
  
He watched helplessly as Draco slowly began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He popped each one lazily, like he couldn’t care less that Harry was naked and desperate in front of him. He wanted to hurry him, but Draco still had his wand, gripped delicately between his middle and ring finger while his other fingers worked the buttons; he would probably hex him if he tried. His cock grew impossibly harder at the thought.  
  
After an eternity, Draco undid the final button, his shirt falling open to reveal his firm, lean navel. Harry’s eyes raked up his torso, lingering over the silvery scars - this time not out of guilt, but out of lust for every inch of Draco’s flesh. They traced up to the chain hanging between his collarbones, weighted down with the Malfoy signet ring, and he felt the strangest urge to reach up and kiss it.  
  
He hovered forward until he remembered he wasn’t allowed to touch. Not yet.  
  
And, of course, the bastard wasn’t done. Instead of slipping the shirt off, Draco moved next onto his sleeves, drawing the emerald cufflinks from them slowly and meticulously before they floated undone around his wrists. Finally, with a smirk, he took off the shirt, sending it to lie on the chair, neatly folded, with a flick of his wand.  
  
Harry’s eyes fell on his Dark Mark. He had seen it, of course, when they had dueled, but he hadn’t had the chance to examine it up close. It was faded - lines silvered into scars not unlike the ones he had caused with _sectumsempra_.  
  
He glanced up to see Draco watching him look. His confident smirk had faltered, as his eyes questioned Harry. To his relief though, Draco seemed resigned rather than despairing tonight. They could move past this.  
  
“Can I touch you yet?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. Draco’s expression worked from surprise back to easy confidence.  
  
“I suppose,” he drawled. “Now that I’ve gotten my shirt out of the way, so you won’t crumple it.”  
  
With trembling anticipation, Harry reached out to unclasp Draco’s belt. He pulled it from the loops slowly, tugging those sharp hips closer to his face while doing so. He eyed their angles and divots like a starving man.  
  
Harry let the belt fall to the floor, and Draco let out a soft hiss. “Careful Potter, that’s worth more than you.”  
  
He bit his cheek to keep from smirking at the pompousness, already working on the button of Draco’s trousers. As soon as it was free, he reached for the zipper, but Draco stilled his hand.  
  
“With your teeth, Potter.”  
  
Duel feelings of lust and impatience rose up within him, and he found himself arguing. “You just want me to look ridiculous.”  
  
Draco grinned. “You don’t need my help for that.” He rested a hand on Harry’s head, grasping some flyaway locks in his long fingers. “Now are you going to be a good little Gryffindor and suck my cock?”  
  
Vibrating with a fresh wave of lust, Harry shoved his head into Draco’s crotch, catching the zipper messily with his teeth. It took several tries, but he eventually got it down as Draco chuckled. Then, with quick, deft movements, Harry pulled the blonde’s pants down with his hands, too eager to wrap his mouth around Draco to wait for more time-consuming demands.  
  
His erection sprang free, and Harry paused a moment to stare in awe. He had only seen it several times, after all, and the hard, flushed length was enough to take his breath away.  
  
Draco smirked at Harry’s momentary silence. “What, no more arguments, Potter?”  
  
Harry swallowed hard, trying to summon some moisture into his suddenly dry throat.  
  
“Must be impressive, to shut up your sassy mouth,” Draco murmured, tugging Harry’s head forward so his mouth rested against the tip. Harry groaned.  
  
He braced his hands on those gorgeous hips and leaned forward, taking Draco’s cock as deeply as he could in one go. Only when he feared he would choke did he pull back, dragging his tongue down the hard length, swirling slowly over the velvety tip.  
  
Draco’s muscles twitched beneath his palms, and he looked up to see the man’s jaw tighten as if holding back a moan. When he noticed Harry looking though, he smirked and tugged on his hair, forcing his attention back to his dick.  
  
“I always knew I’d have you down on your knees for me someday, Potter,” he grunted, and Harry nearly whined at the low timber of his voice. “Used to imagine it during Potions class.”  
  
He bobbed his head more furiously. Draco was so ridiculously hot, and his voice was driving Harry mad.  
  
“I’d think of those green eyes of yours glazing over as I fucked you. _Defiled_ you.”  
  
He began pumping the part of Draco’s cock that he couldn’t swallow in his fist, ignoring the squelching sound of flesh against flesh.  
  
“Your pretty little mouth around me-”  
  
This time, Harry _did_ whine.  
  
“-unable to argue, for once-”  
  
He couldn’t stand it anymore. Harry reached for his own dick, to relieve some of that ungodly pressure, but Draco snatched his arm, pulling out of his mouth entirely.  
  
His voice was strangled, and so so deep.  
  
“Harry - can I _fuck_ you?”  
  
The ragged request lingered in the air until Harry pulled himself up to stand on shaky, bloodless legs.  
  
“Yes.” It was a whisper, so he repeated himself while taking Draco’s hand. “Yes.”  
  
Draco was right; it wasn’t enough. He needed more.  
  
Harry pulled him towards the bed and sat on the edge; Draco eased him back, whispering the cleaning and lubrication charms in a rush. Afterwards, his wand clattered to the floor.  
  
Harry squirmed during the unfamiliar sensations, but nodded when Draco asked him “Alright?”  
  
He wanted this. He wanted this desperately.  
  
Draco climbed above him, urging him back until they both stretched comfortably across the bed. Then he ghosted his fingers down Harry’s cock, smearing a drip of precum around the head before traveling lower to his bollocks.  
  
Harry gasped as Draco kneaded them, curling his knuckle into the tight stretch of his perineum before massaging lower still, working towards the small knot of muscle that now oozed lube from his spell. Breathless passion had replaced the smirk on Draco’s face, as his first finger danced around the hole, teasing the outside as Harry’s insides turned to fire.  
  
“Please,” he whispered, and Draco complied - dipping his finger in, pressing it slowly, digit by digit deeper inside him.  
  
“Can I move?” he asked, voice husky and deep, grey eyes all pupil as he gazed down at Harry.  
  
He nodded, twitching as Draco drew his finger back incrementally before pushing back in. The gesture repeated several times, and after several minutes, he was sliding gently in and out, stopping whenever Harry winced at the new, stretching sensation.  
  
A not-unpleasant pressure began to build with the rhythm of Draco’s thrusts. Before long, he was sliding a second finger in, which, though uncomfortable at first, Harry soon grew accustomed to as he had the first.  
  
When he went for a third, Harry winced, convinced it was impossible, until Draco stopped and leaned in for a kiss, murmuring, “You’re so close - just a little more. You’re doing great.” He kissed him again, tongue delving langorous and deep, and Harry didn’t even notice him easing the third finger further until it was inside of him.  
  
After a few more minutes of patient buildup, Draco drew his slick fingers from Harry’s arse. The sight was breathtaking. Any part of Draco inside of him, touching him so intimately was exhilarating, and he had such beautiful slender fingers.  
  
“I think you’re ready.”  
  
Harry nodded, feeling strangely empty without the consistent pressure filling him.  
  
Draco lined himself up with the hole, gazing into Harry’s eyes until he nodded again before pressing forward. It ached and stretched, but Draco snatched his lips in another searing kiss until he relaxed. He eased deeper, giving several slow, experimental thrusts.  
  
As Harry grew accustomed to it, the pressure became less painful, more...pleasurable.  
  
Though he was still careful and slow, Draco’s thrusts were grazing something deep inside that made him shudder and groan. Noticing Harry’s jolts and sounds, Draco adjusted his position so the feeling became more intense, and he scrabbled for the blonde’s shoulders to anchor himself.  
  
“Draco, ah-”  
  
The blonde groaned in answering lust, grabbing Harry’s cock at last and pumping it rapidly with still-slick fingers. He held himself up with the other arm, and Harry watched his lean biceps straining - _all_ Draco’s muscles were straining, and he really was a bloody beautiful man.  
  
Harry dug his nails into Draco’s shoulders, overcome with sensation as orgasm slammed through his body. He uttered a choking noise as Draco continued to pump into him, hitting that spot that made his back arch as he came, muscles spasming around the cock buried deep inside him. It seemed to go on forever, the pleasure reverberating up within until he almost couldn’t stand it.  
  
And then Draco was shuddering above him, pressing desperate kisses against his mouth until he was twitching, moaning Harry’s name against his lips as he collapsed.  
  
“Fuck,” he mumbled when it was all over.  
  
And Harry smiled. He really loved making Draco curse.  
  
“Was it everything you dreamed of in Potions?” he whispered, voice cracking at the end.  
  
Draco laughed weakly against his neck. “Merlin, if I’d known it was like _that_, I’d have bent you over a cauldron years ago.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. Dueling is always a fun time to write (in its many forms). 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	23. In the Lap of Luxury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: discussing homophobic family members; discussing ill family members

Draco stayed over that night too. Harry crashed at his the next, and so it went for the rest of the week. He was elated to share this time with Draco, no longer dancing around the fact that he wanted to spend all his free moments with him. Somewhere along the way, it had become an all-consuming desire, and every time he stopped to think, it surprised him all over again that Draco felt the same way.  
  
But, of course, things could never be perfect. Harry could see the news of Draco’s father eating away at him in the stiller moments - times when Harry woke to find him already awake, staring into the silence or seeking answers at the bottom of his teacup. Every time he asked about it though, Draco deflected.  
  
“Are you going to go visit?” It was Friday afternoon, and he made his voice carefully conversational, as if it wasn’t the fifth time he’d brought it up.  
  
The blonde was lounging in an emerald green armchair Harry had conjured for his office after Draco had started hanging there. As he didn’t have nearly as much prep work for flying classes, Draco had been reading novels or books on advanced Potions - books Harry never would have chosen in his free time – while he himself worked on lesson plans. On Wednesday, Draco had found the revised edition of _The Boy Who Lived: Loves, Lies, and Loneliness_ in the top drawer of Harry’s desk and taken to reading excerpts aloud with an insufferable smirk while Harry blushed.  
  
At Harry’s question, Draco’s fingers stiffened around his mug. He did not look up from the page, yet Harry noticed his eyes had stilled. “No.”  
  
“It’s really okay if you do.”  
  
Draco set his book in his lap, pinching the bridge of his nose with a harrowed weariness. “I know that. You must’ve told me at least ten times now.”  
  
Harry chewed at his lip, unsure how to proceed. He had been realizing that sometimes Draco wanted to be pushed into things he otherwise would be too proud to do, but sometimes it just made him more stubborn. “I don’t get why you haven’t then,” he said at last.  
  
“Just focus on your lesson plans,” Draco snapped. “Merlin knows you’re behind.”  
  
Harry parked his quill in the inkwell and leaned back. “Well, I can’t focus now. I want to know what you’re thinking.”  
  
“I’m _thinking_ you’re a nosey git who needs to back off.” When he caught Harry’s expression, he huffed and added under his breath, “Sorry, but it’s true.”  
  
Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair and looking to the ceiling for answers. Like always, it didn’t give him anything good. “Draco, I know you care-”  
  
“Why should I care?” The blonde was bristling like a scorched cat. “He _threw me out_. I’m his _only_ son. Do you know how rare that is among pureblood families?”  
  
“I was going to say ‘I know that you care, even though you feel you shouldn’t.’ You don’t have to forgive him - just go and talk at least. Otherwise, you’ll regret it.”  
  
He could tell Draco was chewing on that thought with the way he scowled and looked speculatively into the distance.  
  
“Also, we don’t have a lot of information. Your mom could’ve been leaving out details - maybe it’s not as bad as it seems. I don’t know. But you owe it to yourself to find out.”  
  
Draco rubbed his face with a harsh hand. “Oh, she’s undoubtedly ‘leaving out details.’ It’s a Malfoy family trait.” He sighed and was quiet for a long moment. “I’ll go tonight,” he finally said in a small, resigned voice.  
  
“Really? That’s great.” Harry half-stood in excitement, but then realized Draco probably didn’t want a hug or whatever physical acknowledgement of his acquiescence Harry was planning, so he sat back down. “Do you want me to come along?”  
  
Draco looked up sharply. “No.”  
  
He was secretly relieved.  
  
“Alright - just thought I’d offer. I’m going out with Ron and Hermione tonight anyway.”  
  
“Right. Yes, you’re going to that Muggle pub you all like so much,” he said distractedly, clearly beginning to worry about his own evening plans.  
  
“Well, it’s good. I’ll have to take you sometime.”  
  
At that, Draco looked up at him, surprised. “Oh. You will?”  
  
Harry raised a brow of his own. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I?”  
  
Draco’s cheeks pinkened. “Nothing, no reason.” His throat worked. “I just wasn’t sure you’d want to take me to any place…Muggle. Given my history.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, then swallowed before speaking - his voice infinitely tender. “Draco… Of course I’ll take you to Muggle places.” _Did he really believe Harry still thought so lowly of him? Saw him as a Death Eater?_  
  
Draco, seeming thoroughly embarrassed, was refusing to look him in the eye. “Oh. Well, of course. Right.”  
  
Seeing him all flushed sparked a flare of mischief through Harry. “Hey, come here.” He patted his lap.  
  
Draco’s incredulous expression quickly turned into a glare. “What? No, I’m not doing that again.”  
  
After much pleading, Harry had gotten him to sit in his lap yesterday, but it had only lasted about ten seconds before Draco’s pride could no longer endure it. Regardless, Harry had been smugly pleased for hours after.  
  
“Please?” He gave Draco that wide-eyed innocent look he saved for people who already knew he was plotting something.  
  
“No. Absolutely not. And why do I have to sit on _your_ lap? What kind of weird standard is that? Why don’t you sit on _mine?_” Draco was babbling, gesticulating wildly from his chair.  
  
“That can be arranged.”  
  
Harry rose, coming around the desk towards Draco before he could protest and flopping across his lap. He curled his legs over the plush arm of the chair and laughed as the blonde shrieked in protest and fumbled to move the book Harry had crushed.  
  
“You _heathen!_ I hadn’t even marked my page yet!”  
  
“Aww, aren’t I better than some old Potions book?”  
  
Draco scoffed. “Hardly. Now get off, so I can read!”  
  
Harry slipped his arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Draco resisted, but only for a second, before he melted into the embrace. Harry waited until the blonde was groaning and clutching at his face to pull back a hairsbreadth.  
  
“Are you sure you want me to leave?”  
  
Draco shifted his legs under Harry, spreading them slightly so he could settle his weight between the two. He glared fiercely, spots of color still dotting his cheeks.  
  
“I see what you’re doing.”  
  
“Do you? Good eye,” Harry teased. He trailed kisses from the sharp corner of Draco’s jaw to his collarbone. His lips brushed against the cool sting of metal, and he gently tugged Draco’s necklace from where it was tucked beneath his shirt.  
  
The blonde watched his hands with interest.  
  
Overwhelmed by curiosity, Harry lifted the ring from Draco’s sternum, leaning in to look at the intricate design. He felt, rather than saw, Draco’s breath catch as he did so.  
  
It was an incredibly detailed piece - the elegant M in the center was circled by serpents and spears, and the crest bore some motto stamped into the silver that was too tiny for Harry to read. He thumbed it in several revolutions to see it from every side.  
  
When he looked up, Draco was gazing at him intently with lowered lids. It was the kind of look that made Harry’s throat dry.  
  
“What does it say?” He wasn’t sure why he was whispering.  
  
“_Sanctimonia vincet semper_.” Draco’s voice was pure silk. Some people were clearly born to speak in latin.  
  
He nodded shakily. “What does it mean? ‘Family of Slytherins?’”  
  
Draco tilted his head to the side, eyes considering him curiously. “‘_Purity will always conquer_.’”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“We’ve had to redefine the concept of ‘purity’ a bit, obviously.”  
  
“Right. Otherwise you wouldn’t be dating me.”  
  
Draco raised a brow. “No, you’re a _half_-blood, whom Malfoys have always been allowed to marry to keep the line less incestuous.”  
  
_Marry? Merlin, was he thinking about_ marrying _Harry someday?_ The ring burned in his hand with sudden significance.  
  
“If I wasn’t half-blood though-”  
  
“I wouldn’t care,” Draco said flatly. His hand was cupping Harry’s cheek, and his touch was fire. His eyes were smoke.  
  
Harry forced a wobbly laugh. “You wouldn’t betray your family for me.”  
  
Draco’s lip curled up on the side, wry and amused and oh so intense.  
  
“_Oh Harry_, I already have.”  
  
Harry’s breath stuttered. Finding his fingers still linked around the chain, he yanked Draco in by the necklace. Kissing him hard. Tangling his hands in that smooth, blonde hair that just begged to be disheveled. Turning in the chair to straddle his lap.  
  
Draco kissed him back with reciprocal fervor. Distantly, the bell tower struck five, and on the fifth toll, Harry remembered something.  
  
“I have to go,” he said, “Ron and Hermione-” His voice sounded a thousand miles away.  
  
Draco, on the other hand, was so _close_. He smirked at Harry with swollen, pink lips. Eyes dark and glassy. “They can wait five minutes.” 

  


At fifteen after, Harry stumbled into the Muggle pub, adjusting his shirt collar as he went. He saw Ron’s shock of red hair in the corner, and made his way towards the booth in the back. They both glanced up from their conversation as he fell heavily into the seat across from them.  
  
“Sorry I’m late.”  
  
Ron’s eyebrows shot up as amusement colored his expression. “No worries, mate. You must’ve been, err, _busy_.” His eyes flicked down towards Harry’s neck.  
  
Harry clapped a hand over it. _Had Draco-...? That Slytherin bastard_.  
  
He cleared his throat, adjusting his collar a bit more to hide whatever mark he suspected was definitely there. “Yeah, um...lesson plans,” he grunted.  
  
Thankfully, his friends let it go with mirrored wry grins.  
  
“How are you holding up?”  
  
For a minute, Harry was confused as to what Hermione was referencing. “Oh, the new articles?”  
  
She pursed her lips. “Honestly, Harry, do you even read the news?”  
  
He burst out laughing. “You know, Draco asked me the same thing this morning. In the exact same tone too.”  
  
Hermione schooled her amusement and pursed her lips; she was obviously still peeved. “Well, _do_ you?”  
  
He scratched at his head. “Erm, on occasion.”  
  
She frowned severely at that and pulled a handful of folded newspapers from her purse. “Well, I figured as much, so I brought all of this week’s slander with me. But honestly, as an adult, you have the responsibility to-”  
  
“Yes, yes, read all about how terrible and fucked up I am in the papers.”  
  
“_No_. Read the arguments you’ll have to be prepared to counter when you go out in public.”  
  
He paged through the top few headlines.  
  


NO NEWS IS **DARK** NEWS - HARRY POTTER’S SHOCKING REASONS BEHIND HIS LAST-MINUTE CAREER CHANGE

  


RICH, FAMOUS, AND GAY: HOW HARRY POTTER CONSISTENTLY KEEPS HIMSELF IN THE LIMELIGHT

  


WHAT NEW FASHION TRENDS CAN WE EXPECT FROM HERO-TURNED-GAY-SOCIALITE, HARRY POTTER?

  


He let the articles slap back down onto the table. “Great. I feel so enlightened. How are _you two_ doing?”  
  
Ron grinned and glanced furtively at Hermione, whose stern mask began to crumble as well.  
  
“What?”  
  
“We’re doing _well_…” Ron began, eyeing Hermione again. “Really well, actually.”  
  
“And?” He swore they were doing it on purpose.  
  
“And we have some news for you actually. Good news.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“Well, maybe we should eat and have some drinks first-”  
  
“Ronald, stop teasing him.”  
  
Ron clapped a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, face beaming. “We’re getting married!”  
  
Harry’s jaw dropped. He was silent for a solid five seconds before speaking. “You’re...what?”  
  
“Getting married,” Ron repeated. “On New Year’s Eve.”  
  
“So soon?” Harry spluttered. “I mean…congratulations!”  
  
Hermione smiled gently. “I know it’s a bit of a surprise. But we have been together for almost three years now.”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Just...wow. Marriage.” Harry knew he was blathering, but the concept of marriage just seemed so...adult. So far away. “Any particular reason _why now?_”  
  
Ron smiled. “I mean, part of it was just that we’ve been living together for a while and thought _why not?_ But I also realized it would be a good distraction for Mum. And then she’ll put less pressure on Gin, and hopefully forget about her grievances with you. And now that you’re doing a lot better, we thought it’d be a good time-”  
  
“Were you holding off because of _me?_” Harry asked. His heart plunged.  
  
“No,” Hermione said quickly, sharing a glance with Ron. “Of course not - this was just a better time for us as well, and if you’re feeling more like your usual self, then naturally that makes us happy too.”  
  
He got the distinct sense that they _had_ been waiting after all. Something twisted in his stomach. But they clearly didn’t want him to feel guilty about it, so he would let it go. Regardless of their reasons, he was happy for them.  
  
“I mean, it _is_ a good time. New Year’s Eve should be lovely.” The idea was settling with him, so he could respond more coherently. “Where’s it going to be?”  
  
“The Burrow,” Ron said. “Mum would never forgive me if I got married anywhere else.”  
  
A strain of worry crossed Harry’s mind. “Will she be okay with me-”  
  
“It’ll be fine, Harry,” Hermione responded, placing her hand across his on the table. “We’ll make sure she’s over it by then. You’re our best friend, and we’re not getting married without you there.”  
  
Feeling a bit choked up, he gave her hand a squeeze. “Thanks, guys.” He tried to sniff discreetly. “And let me help with the planning if you need anything! Like...I don’t know centerpieces or...er...wedding colors.”  
  
“Have you ever _been_ to a wedding, mate?” Ron laughed. “But thanks. I’ll let you know when we need some help.”  
  
“Also,” Hermione said, “I know this is preemptive, but we just wanted to let you know that it’s okay if you want to bring Malfoy.”  
  
“Oh. Are you sure? You don’t have to just for me-” It was a sweet gesture, but he didn’t want them to be put out all night on their _wedding_ because he had decided to date someone with a reprehensible past.  
  
“No, we’ve decided. And we wanted to have you invite Draco out with us sometime, so we can get to know him better-” she paused, “well, get to know him in a _different_ way.”  
  
“I… I mean, he…” Harry tried to formulate a sentence several times, but eventually landed on “Okay.” He breathed. “I’d like that. It means a lot, really.”  
  
They smiled at each other, rather soppily for a moment.  
  
Ron broke the silence. “Whatever happened with the jumpers, by the way?”  
  
Harry raised a brow. With everything going on with the Malfoys, he wasn’t sure he’d ever find out. But that was a story for a different day. All he said for now was, “That’s yet to be determined.” 

  


Harry paced Draco’s room, waiting for him to return from Malfoy Manor. Though the visit with his friends had been fun, he was starting to feel overwhelmed. Ron and Hermione were getting married.  
  
Ron and Hermione were getting _married_. Draco’s dad was _dying_. Harry was a _teacher_ \- one who was behind on his work - and he honestly didn’t know how any of this had happened at all.  
  
_Life_ happened so quickly sometimes.  
  
“Ron wants me to be best man,” he murmured aloud, and just then, Draco stepped through the Floo.  
  
“_Who_ wants you to be best man?”  
  
Harry’s head snapped up. Draco looked tired, and there were these lines on his cheeks from frowning, but he didn’t seem despairing either, so that was probably a good sign.  
  
“Ron and Hermione are getting married,” he burst out. “How was your visit?”  
  
Draco looked surprised for a moment, then snorted. “Of course they’re getting married - about bloody time too.”  
  
Harry watched him peel off his outer layer of robes and hang them neatly in his closet before coming over to fall onto the couch. He kicked his legs up onto the coffee table, undoubtedly loosening the posture and decorum he had put on for the past few hours.  
  
“The visit was...tense.” He was looking up at the ceiling.  
  
“Is your dad-...” Harry trailed off, not wanting to say it.  
  
“Dying?” Draco supplied. His face twisted into sardonic humor. “In a manner of speaking, yes.” He glanced over at Harry’s confused expression. “He _is_ dying, don’t get me wrong. Just not particularly fast. Mother left out that bit.”  
  
His face settled back into a frown, and Harry took the hand that lay listlessly on the couch. He offered no resistance as Harry interlaced their fingers and rubbed the pad of his palm with his thumb.  
  
“How long do you think he has then?”  
  
Draco sighed; his gaze had fallen to rest on the fire crackling in the grate. “It’s hard to say. A year? Two? Five? Could be longer, could be shorter.” He rubbed his face with his other hand. “At least he’s still an arse, or I’d know things were really serious.”  
  
Harry frowned. “Did he say something to you?”  
  
The blonde sighed again. “He said many things to me.”  
  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
“Oh, you mean _psychologically damaging_ things? Yes, he said those too.”  
  
“I mean- _what_ did he _say?_”  
  
Draco drew his hand back from his face and turned toward Harry. The bags under his eyes looked darker than before, his cheekbones more sharply angular. “Oh, just that I’m a horrible son and shouldn’t be mingling with paupers and blood traitors and that I’ve wrought ruin upon the family name, et cetera, et cetera.” His gaze fell harshly on Harry’s lips. “That I’ve debased myself by consorting with you.”  
  
He knew he should be serious, but those intense grey eyes gave him chills. “Did he really use the word ‘consort?’”  
  
A smirk tugged at Draco’s lips. “I think ‘consort,’ ‘fraternize,’ and ‘sodomy’ all came up during our discussion. Lots of adjectives. Heirloom guilt. No terms for dating past the 1800s.”  
  
“And your mum?”  
  
“She let us duke it out before dinner, through which she laid down her expectations of mutual compromise.”  
  
“And what does that compromise entail for you?” Harry worried that it was predicated on Draco cutting all ties with him.  
  
“Mainly, writing and visiting more often, and not provoking Father on purpose.” He read Harry’s face with ease. “Don’t worry - if it wasn’t clear before, I’m still not breaking up with you.”  
  
Harry’s breath became short. “Does that mean we’re…_going out?_”  
  
Draco’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? We’ve been ‘going out’ for the past week.”  
  
“_What?_”  
  
“What?” Draco turned more to face him. “I don’t understand how this is coming as a surprise.”  
  
“But you-…you never said!”  
  
“You asked me to be your _boyfriend_, Harry – what part of that was unclear?”  
  
Harry snapped his jaw shut. “The part where you said you’d ‘_think about it_’ instead of ‘_yes!_’”  
  
Draco huffed. “Well, _obviously_ I was joking.”  
  
_Sometimes, he just wanted to_-  
  
“You absolute _prat_. How was I supposed to know that? I was worrying all week whether you were serious!”  
  
At that, Draco smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear. “You heard what I told Mother - I’m always serious.” His fingers dipped and caught Harry’s chin. “And were you really that worried? I guess my plan is working then.”  
  
“And what plan was that?” Harry asked, voice threatening.  
  
“To fuel your obsession with me.” He read the indignation on Harry’s face with a grin. “Is it working?”  
  
“_Fuck you_, Draco Malfoy.”  
  
_He’d be damned sevenfold before admitting that it was_.  
  
“Mm, I love the way you say my name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope y'all are having a good week. My life is still crazy, and I haven't had a chance to write nearly as much as I would have liked, but with luck, things will be getting back to normal soon. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this week's chapter! Be like Lucius and use some obsolete dating terminology that makes everyone uncomfortable. :)


	24. Leather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: handjobs; anal sex; sub/dom themes; humiliation; spanking; glove kink

Harry Potter had a boyfriend. Not a crush, not a date – a _boyfriend_. He was so disgustingly pleased with the situation that he didn’t know what to do with himself.  
  
“Draco _dear_, will you please pass me a new quill?”  
  
The blonde’s mouth crushed into a flat line. “Are you going to be like this from now on? It’s been _three_ days since I called you my boyfriend, and you’re still losing your bloody mind.”  
  
But Harry noticed the flush dotting Draco’s cheeks and smirked. He truly was pleased, but he also had a lot of fun embarrassing his _boyfriend_ with gushy phrasing and terms of endearment. “Pretty please?”  
  
“Oh, fuck off,” Draco grumbled, but passed him the quill anyway.  
  
Harry was working on his lesson plans – or trying to anyway. He had made some serious progress with the fourth years on _patronuses_, and one girl had even cast a corporeal one for several seconds in class last week. It had taken him much longer to reach that level with Lupin.  
  
After seeing how much more eager his fourth year class had been about learning after he let them ask their “honest questions,” he had resolved to implement an “honesty session” in the rest of his classes as well. He had undergone two more already – one in which his first years asked him wholesome things like his favorite magical creature and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean – and one with the fifth years that had gone much like the fourth. Even though it didn’t have direct relation to his material, he felt like he was finally getting somewhere in understanding how to be a better teacher.  
  
“Are you still coming to my class today?” he asked Draco. The man had been busy with his own class during his last lesson, and otherwise reticent to bring up the topic of _patronuses_ since their initial chat.  
  
“I…yes, I suppose,” Draco said with an air of impatience. He was splayed out in an emerald armchair next to Harry’s desk. Today, he was reading _Moste Potente Potions_, which was a fun throwback to second year. It seemed rather amusing now that Harry and his friends had spent a month brewing polyjuice potion to sneak into the Slytherin common room and spy on young Draco. And this time around, he hadn’t even had to break into the Restricted Section to read it.  
  
“Good, I’ll be expecting you then.” He dipped his new quill in ink and went back to taking notes. If he didn’t force himself, he’d end up watching Draco read for the next few hours and never get anything done.

  


“Alright, class. As you can see, today we have a visitor who’s going to help me teach this lesson.” Harry glanced at Draco whose eyes had widened a fraction at that last part. “I expect you all to be courteous.”  
  
Sam looked between the two of them and seemed to be hiding a smirk behind his hand.  
  
“Now, let’s pick up where we left off last time – wands out.” The students stood, and Harry spelled the desks into the corner so they had more room. They drew their wands, and so, reluctantly, did Draco.  
  
“Like we talked about before – clear your mind of your worries. Put away thoughts of homework and drama and deadlines and think of a happy moment. One that’s strong enough to fill you with emotion.” He gave them a few moments to choose. “Now hold onto that feeling. Let it expand in your chest, like it’s bolstering you. Like it’s protecting you. Nurture it until it grows so large, you have to let it out.”  
  
He closed his eyes, thinking of his friends, thinking of Draco. “_Expecto patronum!_”  
  
When he looked up, the stag was there like he knew it would be.  
  
Around the room, students were flicking their wands and casting anything from feeble light to partially-formed creatures. Many had their eyes screwed shut to focus on their memories, though some were gawking at his stag, despite having seen it several times now.  
  
His eyes fell upon Sam casting furtive looks at the boy next to him before casting the indistinct shape of a bird.  
  
He turned to watch Draco. His mouth was set in a grim expression, and after noticing Harry’s gaze, he hesitantly closed his eyes. Harry saw his adam’s apple bob before he cast.  
  
“_Expecto patronum_.” Despite the quiet, clear incantation, only a small light emitted from his wand, the strength of a candle. Draco’s eyes flitted open, unable to hide the disappointment once he saw his failure. “_Expecto patronum_,” he repeated a little louder, to no avail. “_Expecto patronum!_” He lowered his wand, jaw ticking. “This is pointless.”  
  
Harry’s heart clenched.  
  
“Everyone listen up!” he cut in. “If you haven’t cast a corporeal _patronus_ yet, don’t worry. It’ll come with practice. For now though, just relax. Then, focus on selecting a new memory to work with. Something that makes you happy enough that you feel _strong_. Something like friendship, or a time you were proud of an accomplishment, or-” his eyes flicked unbidden to Draco, “love.”  
  
The blonde’s eyes widened.  
  
He looked away quickly and cleared his throat. _What the_ fuck _had he just implied_ – and in front of a room full of students too? He needed to get a grip.  
  
“Anyway, sift through your memories and try to find one that matches. Everyone has one, even if it doesn’t immediately come to mind.” His words were on autopilot.  
  
Harry glanced back at Draco to watch him try again, but his wand was by his side. He was watching Harry intently, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.  
  
_Get a grip_, Harry reminded himself.  
  
He pretended not to notice Draco’s stare for the rest of class. 

  


At dinner, Draco hadn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary, and Harry wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. What would he say if Draco asked?  
  
Did he _love_ him?  
  
He felt a tightness in his chest – but from nerves or the breakneck pace of his heart, he could not tell. Yes, he was _obsessed_ with Draco; that much he had admitted to himself a while ago. He was very much _attracted_ to him as well. That had been proven without a shadow of a doubt. But there was also a deeper feeling he’d been noticing – one that made him worry when Draco put on his self-deprecating smile to mask the pain, but also made Harry say horribly cheesy things like “I want to get to know you.” It made him smile stupidly whenever Draco teased him instead of snapping back, and it made him pace while he waited for the blonde to return.  
  
Yes, there was a force there – he could see it now. But was it _love?_  
  
Was that what it was called when he wanted to sit in his office grading papers forever if he could only catch a glimpse of Draco in his periphery? When he wanted to burrow under the covers with him instead of getting up to face the morning? When he was strangely jealous of the ring that nestled by Draco’s heart all day, and felt compelled to take it - to _wear_ it – in order to carry a piece of Draco with him always?  
  
No, these were not _casual_ thoughts. They did not reek of crushes or dates or _boyfriends_ even – they were more suited to _soulmates_. And Harry was realizing he very much wanted to share his soul if it meant receiving a piece in return.  
  
He looked up from his plate of green beans and pork. Draco was studying him with that same, curious expression as he ate. And he was beautiful.  
  
Merlin, _fuck_ \- he was _beautiful_. It was all suddenly so simple.  
  
And so Harry turned back to his plate, just _knowing_ that he was in love with the man sitting beside him.

  


The rest of the week passed quickly. At dueling club, Flitwick had returned in total confusion of why students were suddenly countering jinxes with _aguamenti_ and _accio_, though even he couldn’t deny that their creativity was definitely improving their battle strategy. Draco spent more of his time on the Quidditch pitch than in Harry’s office, as there was another match coming up on Saturday, and he promised both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor that he would help them practice beforehand. He had also returned to the Manor once more since his visit last Friday, citing similarly frustrating conversations with his dad when he returned.  
  
Other than the Quidditch match, he was also excited for this weekend, as he had set up a double date with Ron and Hermione at a Muggle restaurant he liked, and Draco had actually agreed to go. It would probably be nerve-wracking and disastrous, but it was an effort on both sides, and that part made him happy.  
  
Altogether, though busy, things were starting to fall into place and become _normal_. Which, once Harry considered it, was what he had been trying for all along – though, following the war, he had looked for his version of “normal” in all the wrong places. He would never be happy with the peace and quiet; he knew that about himself now. And, at least for the present, the bustling halls of Hogwarts were where he was content to rebuild his new life. 

  


“Hey, pass me my goggles,” Draco said, buckling his knee pads in a rush. The match was going to start soon, and Harry had been distracting Draco from getting ready for the past half hour. All the students had been out on the pitch warming up for a while now – the stands were undoubtedly filling up as well.  
  
“Sure.” Harry purposefully brushed up against him as he leaned across the bench to grab them.  
  
Draco chuckled at the boldness. “So _feisty_. And I haven’t even put on _these_-” He held up the fingerless leather gloves with a grin.  
  
Harry’s face reddened as his heart thundered in his chest. He watched as Draco slid them on deftly, tightening and fastening with a few casual yanks. Merlin, his hands were so beautiful – all jagged wrists and graceful knuckles, his fingers long and slender and-  
  
Draco smirking at him with a knowing look in his eyes.  
  
“Well, Potter-”  
  
He began to lean towards him, so Harry closed his eyes in anticipation of the kiss. When it didn’t come, his eyes flicked back open in confusion.  
  
That, apparently, had been what the blonde was waiting for though. “See you after the match,” he whispered sensually against Harry’s lips, before standing and turning to go.  
  
“_What?_ Wait!”  
  
_Was Draco really going to leave him like this? Surely there was enough time for a just a bit of_-  
  
But Draco simply turned and looked him up and down one more time with that damned grin on his face before walking out the door.  
  
_Fucking fuck_.  
  
Slytherins were the _worst_.  
  
Harry pressed the heel of his palm into his erection and willed it to go away.

  


Harry took his place in the stands after several frustrated minutes spent thinking of unsexy things like blast-ended skrewts or Dolores Umbridge.  
  
“Harry! Where were you? You missed the start!” Neville’s friendly voice cut through the cheers as the man sidled up next to him.  
  
“Heya Neville. I…uh… I was just giving Draco a…_pep talk_ before the match.”  
  
Neville’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, it was like _that_, huh? Figured out where you two stand yet?” He wrapped his Gryffindor scarf tighter against the wind.  
  
“Err,” Harry began, his throat feeling rather dry. “We’re going out now, I suppose,” he said in a quiet voice. He tried _so hard_ for it to come out casually, but he still sounded disgustingly pleased with himself.  
  
“Good for you, mate!” Neville clapped him on the back and laughed. “Fussy thing like Malfoy, it certainly took a while to sort it out.”  
  
They both laughed, and went on to spend the game pointing out the smart plays and joking about all the ways players ended up in the hospital wing. Though, like last time, Harry’s eyes kept getting drawn to a particular referee with very nice hands and very good form. He didn’t get to spend nearly enough time appreciating Draco in his Quidditch uniform, for him being a flight instructor and all.  
  
Naturally, Gryffindor won.  
  
As soon as the snitch was caught, Harry dropped the pretense of caring about the results, and he raced down the steps, shouting “See you, Neville!” over his shoulder while speeding towards the locker rooms. He caught up with Draco on the way, giving the unsuspecting Slytherin a large hug before he remembered himself – namely, _where they were_ – and dragged the man around the corner of the locker rooms to press against the outside wall.  
  
“Merlin, someone’s _impatient_,” Draco teased, but he was clearly preening – the git liked any and all attention he could get. The blonde pulled his goggles off his head with a distracted hand while he lost himself in Harry’s gaze.  
  
“Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten me going before the match then,” Harry replied, mashing their faces together for a hard, sloppy kiss. Draco’s face was flushed when he drew back.  
  
“Yes, that’s all very well and good – I’m _very_ repentant – but…we’re _outside_ and the students and staff…and the _journalists_-” Harry gave his arse a squeeze, and Draco let out an involuntary yelp that quickly turned into an indignant glare. “Are you even _listening_ to me?”  
  
“I’m listening,” Harry said. “I just don’t care. I would drop down and blow you right now, if you wanted me to.”  
  
Draco gasped, and Harry saw his throat working, his eyes dark and hungry.  
  
“That’s not fair,” he croaked at last, voice weighted with desire. “I’d like to stay a teacher for more than three months.”  
  
“No one will see,” Harry lied.  
  
“_Anyone_ can walk around and see us, including the students _changing inside this building right now_.”  
  
Harry pulled back with a sigh. “Fine. You’re right,” he said, voice laden with disappointment.  
  
Draco caught his face in his palm – his _gloved_ palm – and turned it to face him. “_You_ don’t get to give me that face. Just _wait_. If you wait _five bloody minutes_, everyone will have left, and we can go in and-” His eyes dropped to Harry’s lips, where he seemingly lost his train of thought.  
  
“But waiting is torture,” he murmured.  
  
Draco’s lip quirked up into a wry smirk. “As people who have both endured actual torture, I would say this is an infinitely better variety.”  
  
Harry laughed. “Fair enough.” He leaned in and kissed Draco gently, kindly, in a way that he could happily lose himself in for five minutes. The man’s lips were soft and warm, and Harry wanted to feel them across every inch of his flesh.  
  
When the last student had left the locker room, Draco went in and checked before dragging Harry roughly inside. “All clear,” he said in a gravelly voice as he pressed Harry against the lockers. Bits and bobs jangled as Harry’s back hit the metal, and Draco stole a ravenous kiss. “Now, where were we?”  
  
Harry groaned as Draco ran his hands down his waist, down his thighs – dragging his nails roughly against the fabric.  
  
“Oh, I think I remember now.” Draco smirked then leaned in, ghosting his lips over Harry’s ear. “I was about to tell you all the things I’m going to do to you with _these gloved hands_.”  
  
Harry gasped softly, and Draco wrapped his fingers around Harry’s hips to pull them flush against him, as if punctuating his sentence. _Merlin_, he was hard too.  
  
“What are you going to do to me?” Harry cursed himself – he sounded so pathetically _eager_.  
  
But Draco grinned, like it was what he’d been after all along. “Oh, a bit of this, a little of that. What do you _want_ me to do?” He gazed at Harry like he could see right through him.  
  
In a mortifying burst of honesty, Harry blurted, “Spank me.”  
  
Draco was startled into silence by the prompt response, and for a horrible second, Harry thought he would be disgusted. _Fuck, why had he_ said _that?_  
  
But then Draco was laughing, his voice rich and smooth and delighted with Harry’s response. “Alright, I’ll bite.” He leaned back on his heels, surveying Harry with a gleam in his eyes that made it seem like the temperature in the locker rooms was spiking. “But you need to tell me _why. Why_ do you deserve to get spanked, Harry?”  
  
“I-” Harry opened, then closed his mouth, face flaring red. _Why? How should he answer that?_ In his fantasies, he’d always imagined Draco being smug enough at the request to simply go with it.  
  
Now, he saw he had been foolish in those imaginings. Draco _knew_ he enjoyed the humiliation – of course he would put him in a tight spot like this, make him say ridiculous things. It was awful.  
  
It was terribly hot.  
  
“I’ve…been bad,” Harry settled on. He looked at the ground while he said it, cheeks burning, voice not quite committing.  
  
Draco tilted Harry’s chin up with his gloved grip. His lip was twitching at the corner, and his eyes were positively sparkling at this turn of events. “Yeah? And how’ve you been _bad_, Harry?”  
  
Harry’s heart stuttered. It was so rare when Draco’s posh upbringing slipped, and he said things like “yeah” instead of “yes” or gave into crasser curses. He felt a heady rush knowing that _he_ was the one who brought it out in him.  
  
“I’ve…” he licked his lips, trying to think of something, “Recently, I’ve annoyed you…on _purpose_.” Draco raised a brow, and he continued. “The pet names – I really wanted to get under your skin, so you’d argue with me. So you’d _look_ at me.” He glanced up to meet those burning grey eyes. “So you’d give me attention.”  
  
Draco tilted his head with an expression of mock seriousness. “That _is_ rather bad.”  
  
Harry swallowed, but his throat was so dry that nothing went down. “And I’d like you to punish me for it.”  
  
An absolutely sinful smirk stretched across Draco’s face. “Oh, _that_ I can do.”  
  
He pressed an arm across Harry’s chest, leaning his weight into it, so Harry was barred from moving. His expression had hardened a bit, and he glared down his nose at Harry, though the amusement was plainly still there under the surface. “So you annoyed me _on purpose_ the past few days – _knowing_ full well that it interrupted my important studies?”  
  
Harry bit at his lip, the sudden feeling of Draco pressed against him distracting him from the words. “Yes,” he breathed.  
  
Draco leaned harder. “And you did so with the express intent to ‘_get my attention_,’ when you _know_ that only I get to decide whether you _deserve_ that attention?”  
  
Harry could barely focus enough to respond. His blood was all rushing down to his aching erection. “Y-yes.”  
  
Draco smirked. “So you understand, then, why you need to be punished?”  
  
_Sweet Merlin – his expression should have been illegal_.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Draco raised a brow like he used to before challenging Harry to a fight, and then he was spinning him around, pressing his face against the lockers while he dragged the back of Harry’s trousers down over his bum. The chill bit into his exposed skin, and he grew even harder at the sharp sensation.  
  
Draco leaned in close to his ear, and Harry could feel the heat of him right above his back. He yearned to shift and press against him.  
  
“And how many spanks do you think you deserve?” Draco whispered.  
  
_How many? What should he say?_ He didn’t know, he just knew he _wanted_ them.  
  
But he was saved from answering when Draco continued in his smug, low drawl. “You know, you called me ‘_dear_’ seven times today. I think _seven_ should be sufficient?”  
  
Harry could only whimper and nod, though he had limited range of motion with Draco’s hand clasping the nape of his neck and holding him against the wall.  
  
“Very well.”  
  
_Smack_.  
  
He heard the loud cracking sound, and an instant later, felt the pain blooming on his arse. _Damn. Draco hit_ hard.  
  
_Slap_.  
  
Without warning, Draco’s hand came down on the same spot a second time, jolting Harry forward into the wall. _Fuck_. It _hurt_. It hurt like a bitch – _of course_ it hurt – but after a second or two, there was also a sort of tingling aftereffect that made him crave another hit.  
  
“Like that, Potter?” Draco growled, but Harry noticed that he waited for a response before spanking him again.  
  
But Harry was already groaning “More.”  
  
A low chuckle sounded behind him. “We’re just getting started.”  
  
_Smack_.  
  
This time, he hit Harry’s other cheek - the unmarked flesh now prickling with heat. _Three_. That was only three, and it was already stinging.  
  
He shivered in anticipation of the fourth hit, which struck a second later just below the third. Harry moaned when it connected, relishing the shock of pain as much as the crisp, loud crack.  
  
This time, however, Draco’s hand remained resting against his arse. After a moment, he began kneading the bruised flesh, dropping his second hand to grip and massage Harry’s bum which now tingled and ached in delicious sensation.  
  
Harry writhed against the lockers, which could barely keep him standing. He could feel the smooth leather of the gloves dragging across his skin, and it made him shudder. He didn’t have to _see_ it to be painfully turned on.  
  
“Three more,” Draco murmured, almost wonderingly. He squeezed Harry’s arse tauntingly. “Can you handle that, Potter?”  
  
“Yes,” Harry whispered. “Yes, _please_.”  
  
The “please” seemed to excite Draco, as he let out a hissing “_Fuck_.”  
  
Draco’s palm collided with his cheek again, sending a shockwave through the skin that had been lulled out of preparation by the massage. He gasped, clutching at the lockers for a handhold – wishing his prick wasn’t still trapped, constricted in his jeans. _Five_.  
  
Draco fitted his gloved hand back around the base of Harry’s neck before his palm came down again.  
  
_Six_.  
  
One more to go, and Harry was both relieved and tormented. He wanted this to last forever, but also knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it if it did. In a surge of boldness, he stuck his arse out a bit, ushering in the final blow. He couldn’t wait. The suspense of waiting would surely kill him.  
  
_Slap_.  
  
_Seven_. He hissed as Draco’s final strike came down in the same spot as the last, the tenderness earning an extra surge of flushed heat. With a shaky exhale, he relaxed against the lockers, gasping softly as Draco’s hands came back to ghost over the battered cheeks.  
  
Draco made a low noise in his throat. “_Merlin_. I wish you could see how you look right now.” He fondled Harry gently, the warm leather sticking and catching on the curve of his arse.  
  
He kneaded a particularly sore spot, and Harry jerked under his grasp.  
  
“Does that hurt?”  
  
Harry almost said “yes,” but then Draco probably wouldn’t do it again. He _needed_ him to do that again – soon. “Touch me,” he said instead.  
  
He felt Draco slowly spinning him around to face him again, and he tried to school his expression into something other than pitiful, depraved arousal. When their eyes met, though, he noted Draco looked much the same.  
  
The blonde reached for Harry’s jeans, undoing the button and zipper that had been caging him this whole time, and his prick sprang free in merciful exultation.  
  
“_Harry_,” Draco murmured, eyes wide, and Harry’s face blazed at what he knew the man was seeing. His prick was swollen and almost purple, precum leaking freely down the side. He felt an acute shame at being _this_ turned on by the spanking.  
  
But he was also too far gone to care.  
  
Draco wrapped his fingers around the base, and Harry moaned at the sight. His beautiful, gloved hand was pumping up and down his length – he wanted to experience it forever - the friction rough, yet wonderful on his cock.  
  
He felt himself teetering on the edge of orgasm, and he clapped a hand on Draco’s wrist to ward it off. “I want you…I want you to fuck me,” he breathed, green eyes meeting grey in the half-light.  
  
Draco blinked several times before letting out a groan. “_Fuck_, Harry. Okay. Alright.” He raised his hand from Harry’s hip, glancing ruefully between the glove and Harry. “I’m going to need to take one off though.”  
  
If Harry had thought Draco _wearing_ the gloves was the hottest thing he had ever seen, it was only because he hadn’t yet seen him _taking one off_. The man looked up with the ghost of a smirk before pulling open the snaps with his _teeth_, dragging it off with one well-placed bite and jerk of the chin.  
  
The blonde gave him a knowing grin, as his other hand – still wrapped around Harry’s cock – undoubtedly felt a lurch and a twitch.  
  
With his newly-freed hand, Draco drew his wand from his pocket and cast the cleaning and lubricating charms. Either it didn’t feel as strange the second time, or Harry was too enshrouded in lust to notice.  
  
Then Draco was tossing his wand behind him and stepping forward, flipping Harry around to face the lockers once more. Draco’s hands pulled apart his cheeks, and he winced at the tenderness, but the feeling was quickly replaced with ecstasy as the man sank a finger deep inside him. With the spell, it slid in easily to the knuckle, and Draco groaned as he worked Harry looser.  
  
It felt so good. It felt so good, and after several minutes of thrusting and stretching, Harry couldn’t take it anymore. “Just put it in,” he begged.  
  
Draco’s fingers slid out of him in a rush, and he heard the desperate fumbling of the man undoing his belt. Then, without bothering to undress, Draco lined his cock up and began pressing in.  
  
“_Merlin_,” Harry moaned, as he adjusted to the feeling. He was so full, he thought he would burst. And yet, he couldn’t get enough.  
  
Draco’s hands – one gloved, one bare and slick – came to rest on Harry’s hips, and with careful control, he leveraged further and deeper until Harry’s arse pressed flat against his abdomen. He made a low, keening noise that spurred Harry to rock against him, and it was like the floodgates were broken.  
  
Draco thrust hard up into him, sending a burst of pleasure through Harry as he hit that spot deep inside. His nails dug into Harry’s hips, bracing him as he set a frenzied pace, and Harry melted into his grip, taking everything he was giving and praying feverishly for more. He hit the spot over and _over_ again.  
  
Then Draco was gasping, stuttering in his rhythm, reaching around to take Harry in his hands as he tumbled into freefall. He bit down onto Harry’s neck as he came, warm liquid gushing up inside him.  
  
It only took four good pumps before Harry came in Draco’s hand.  
  
When the aftershocks had faded, Draco braced his hands against the lockers, panting. Harry collapsed to his knees, feeling as boneless as he had after Lockhart had tried to heal him. “Fuck,” he mumbled and glanced up at his boyfriend.  
  
Draco smiled when their eyes met, and he let out a breathless laugh. It was like the sex had temporarily drained him of his snark, and his expression looked so open and unabashedly pleased.  
  
He took a step back and sank down onto the bench, eyes still on Harry. “You know,” he said, once he’d caught his breath, “Gryffindor won today.”  
  
“Yeah, so?” Harry asked, a little exasperated by the non-sequitur. This wasn’t the conversation he expected to have after _that_. He wasn’t sure what conversation could _ever_ follow _that_.  
  
“So we’ll have to be careful on our way back,” Draco insisted, like this had a point. When Harry only nodded blankly, he continued, “I don’t want to lose you to any frivolous revelers.”  
  
_Oh_. Harry laughed, finally seeing where this was going. “Oh, trust me, I’m not going to any afterparties tonight.”  
  
“See that you don’t,” Draco said, his eyes crinkling in that hopeful way that made Harry’s heart pound.  
  
No, he wouldn’t be going to any parties. He had far too many fantasies to fulfill for that, his boyfriend was right in front of him, and the night wasn’t getting any younger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. A bold title for a bold chapter. Hope y'all enjoyed that roller coaster. 
> 
> Also, I will note that I drew some inspiration from the wonderful stories of [dysonrules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/pseuds/dysonrules) with regards to gloves and spanking. If you're into that and haven't read her story "Punishment," I would highly recommend it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	25. Introducing the New and Improved Draco Malfoy!

The next evening, Harry fumbled through his closet, muttering a string of curses aimed at clothes, propriety, and what the _hell_ people were supposed to wear to introduce a partner to their friends after nine years of bad blood between them.  
  
Draco was not helping. Instead of fussing around like Harry, he had taken the opposite approach of layering himself in a protective shield of self-confidence and dismissing Harry’s nervous musings as “overthinking things.” His jaw jutted, his brow froze in haughty disdain, and if Harry didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Draco was reenacting his petulant schoolboy days.  
  
When he thought he wasn’t being watched, however, Harry noticed him tapping his fingers against his knees with a rather solemn expression. Answering his own question from weeks ago, Harry decided it was definitely a nervous tic.  
  
“But what should I _wear?_” He asked for the fifth time. “None of these jumpers are right. They’re all either too casual or too nice!”  
  
“I don’t think anything you own could be classed as ‘too nice.’” Draco replied with a curled lip. “Besides, I don’t see why this is so hard. _You’re_ the one who was literally _raised_ by Muggles.”  
  
Harry scowled. “It’s not like they took me places.”  
  
But Draco was right – it _shouldn’t_ be this hard. Ron and Hermione were his best friends whom he’d known forever and wouldn’t care no matter _what_ he wore. He was really just putting off the inevitable fallout of this double dinner date.  
  
Draco – who’d spent only five minutes selecting and changing into a slate blue button down and slacks, yet somehow looked perfect – finally took pity on him. “Wear this one,” he said. He snatched a decent-looking burgundy jumper from the closet and tossed it towards him.  
  
“With the black trousers?” Harry asked.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “No, with the dark jeans, obviously.” He managed to pack such condescension into such a short sentence.  
  
“Oh. Right.”  
  
Harry pulled them on quickly and fidgeted in front of the mirror. “Do I-”  
  
“You look fine,” Draco snapped, and pulled him towards the Floo. Harry protested, tugging his hair into a manageable shape as they went.  
  
After a Floo trip, some Apparition, and a bit of walking, they arrived at the restaurant’s front door. Not even the sight of Draco in his sleek winter peacoat beside him could distract him from his nerves though; he froze in the entrance.  
  
“Merlin, this isn’t going to work! Someone’s going to curse someone, and it’s going to be awful, and it’ll breach the Statute of Secrecy too and then-”  
  
“Just get in already,” Draco said, holding the door open with his brow lifted daringly. Harry glared at him for a long minute before he forced himself through, and it shut with a clunk behind them.  
  
Before he could collect his thoughts any further, the hostess stepped up with an armful of menus. “Hello! How are you doing tonight? Table for two?”  
  
He balked at the sudden barrage of social interaction.  
  
“No, we’re meeting another couple,” Draco smoothly replied. His mask of confidence still seemed to be firmly in place, and Harry had to admit that it was useful at times like these.  
  
“Oh, I believe they just arrived! I can direct you.” She turned and led them to a table in the back where Hermione and Ron were indeed settling, perching their coats on the backs of their chairs.  
  
The two of them glanced up as they approached, and he noted Ron looked as nervous as Harry felt. Hermione, however, seemed to be taking the Draco approach, and had cobbled together a not-quite-convincing mask of gracious hospitality.  
  
“Oh! You’re here.” She smiled a little too widely.  
  
Draco, propelled by charged tension, swaggered up to the table and offered a jaunty hand. “Good evening,” he said - a little too coolly, entirely too formally, and Harry already wanted to run home screaming.  
  
This had been a horrible idea.  
  
After several moments of disturbed silence, Hermione recovered her wits enough to reach out meekly and shake his hand. It was brisk and businesslike, and despite his mask, Harry could see Draco paling more with every passing second.  
  
“Hey, Ron. Hermione,” he cut in, when he remembered it was his responsibility to make all of this work. “How’s…things?”  
  
He pulled out a chair with a little too much force, and it shrieked across the wooden floor before he could stop it. Wincing, he sat, watching Draco do the same in his periphery. Gosh, now they were positioned for a standoff.  
  
“Good. Things are…good,” Hermione replied. She glanced between the two of them. “How are things with you two?’  
  
“Fine,” he said quickly.  
  
There was a long silence. _Fuckity fuck fuck fuck_.  
  
“And you?” _Shit, he’d already asked that, hadn’t he?_ “How are, err, wedding preparations?”  
  
He glanced over at Draco to gauge if he was enduring this encounter any better. Draco had paled to a sickly white glow, and every muscle of his body was tensed. Prompted by Harry’s gaze, he woodenly supplied, “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials” – to the utter horror of everyone at the table.  
  
“Erm, thanks,” Hermione managed.  
  
Ron’s eye was twitching at the stilted formality, undoubtedly holding back years of insults he’d like to revisit. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if censoring himself in real time.  
  
They were offered a brief respite by the waitress, who came around to take their drink orders. Ron took whatever beer was on draught, as he’d learned from Harry, while Hermione ordered a glass of red wine. When the waitress’ eyes landed on Draco, however, he seemed to panic and blurted, “Firewhisky.”  
  
She stared at him. Draco’s cheeks rapidly pinkened, and he looked to Harry rather desperately.  
  
“He means ‘whisky!’” Harry said quickly. “The fieriest one you have.”  
  
Thankfully, she simply gave him a confused look and nodded before heading towards the bar.  
  
“Been to lots of Muggle places, I see,” Ron quipped. It was clearly an attempt at a joke, but Harry saw Draco’s jaw tighten, his face flushing nearly scarlet now.  
  
“Yes, and I’ve had so many occasions to in my life,” he gritted.  
  
_Shit_.  
  
Now him and Ron were glaring at each other, while Harry and Hermione glanced nervously between them.  
  
“Well, it took you a while to stop looking foolish at Muggle places too, Ronald,” Hermione cut in. “You used to try and order Butterbeer!”  
  
Ron shifted his glare to her, sputtering indignantly. “That was a long time ago!” He narrowed his eyes, clearly feeling betrayed by her bringing this up in front of a _Malfoy_. “And I know all sorts of Muggle things now.”  
  
She pursed her lips in a doubtful expression, but the banter at least had Draco relaxing a fraction.  
  
“Is this your first time in a Muggle restaurant, Draco?” she asked with a carefully neutral tone. Harry noticed that she had used his given name - for the first time - likely to establish a slightly less formal rapport.  
  
He blinked at her, seeming startled by the direct address. “Er, yes.” He was clearly uncomfortable, but at least he no longer seemed ready to hex anyone.  
  
“It’s not that different, really,” Hermione responded, slipping into her teacherly tone. “The only real variance is the menu. Well, and that you can’t order self-refilling drinks. But there _are_ drinks with refills, just that the server has to go fill it up and bring it back and-…What?” She broke off, raising an eyebrow at Draco’s small smirk.  
  
“Still a swot, I see.”  
  
Harry considered stomping on his foot at the sudden insult, but as he considered the moment more, he realized it hadn’t been said unkindly. Rather, it had been expressed with a significant amusement that had Hermione blushing slightly – and not out of sheer rage. And since it was also the first Draco-like thing he’d said tonight, perhaps they were headed in the right direction.  
  
Harry saw his opening.  
  
“Like you’re one to talk. You slink up to my office and read for hours on end!” He laughed as Draco’s cheeks pinkened once more, and he looked pointedly away from everyone at the table.  
  
“Really? What do you read?” Hermione asked, interest clearly piqued.  
  
Draco cleared his throat. “A variety.” He glanced at Harry querulously. “Novels. Potions books, mostly. It only seems like a lot to those who don’t read _at all_,” he finished with a glare.  
  
Hermione laughed, and Draco looked startled. In fact, she looked a little startled herself.  
  
“Are you saying Harry doesn’t read all the research materials I send him to prepare for his classes?” She asked it with a mischievous smile, knowing full well he did not.  
  
“I read most of it!” he said quickly. “I spend several hours a day _reading_ and making notes for my lesson plans!”  
  
Draco quirked a brow at him indulgently. “Of course you do. If by ‘reading’ you mean ‘skimming’ and by ‘notes’ you mean ‘jumbled chicken scratch.’”  
  
Harry scoffed. _Is that what he really thought?_ “I work hard on those notes, I’ll have you know.”  
  
“Yes, well, working _hard_ doesn’t always mean working _efficiently_,” Draco countered. He broke into a full smirk when Hermione snorted in agreement.  
  
Harry scowled, feeling more than a little put out. “Is that what you’re doing here then? Joining forces so you can make fun of me?”  
  
Draco ignored his woebegone tone. “It clearly wasn’t the intention, no, but it _is_ a happy coincidence.” He examined his perfect cuticles with an affected disinterest.  
  
Harry looked to Ron for support, but his friend merely gave him a look that said “you let the Muggle conversation happen, so you’re on your own.”  
  
The drinks arrived at that moment, and Harry watched Draco take a sip of his regular whisky and grimace. He glanced around the table and noticed that all four of them were drinking for wildly different occasions.  
  
_Merlin_.  
  
“Which potions books have you been reading?” Hermione asked after a sip of her wine.  
  
Draco took another gulp of whisky, as if to bolster himself for more conversing. “_Moste Potente Potions_. Old, I know, but it contains the original recipes and knowledge basis for most of the stronger, important potions.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes gleamed, and she looked Draco up and down affirmingly. “Oh, I completely agree. Most of the other texts simply reference _Moste Potente Potions_ with some ‘family additions’ to the recipes instead of writing anything new or delving into the alchemical processes of the brewing.”  
  
“Quite right. And none of those ‘family additions’ do much of anything other than alter the superfluous aspects like color and taste of the potions. Except for, of course, the additions Swoopstikes made to _Felix felicis_ that reduced the brewing period from eight months to six. Merlin knows that was one of the only worthwhile advancements in the field of preestablished potions for close to a century.”  
  
“Exactly,” Hermione said, a bit of awe in her voice. “That’s what _I’ve_ always thought. Out of curiosity, is there any particular potion you’re working with at the moment?”  
  
Draco gave a lopsided smile. “_Veritaserum_. Though I can’t say it’s going quite how I’d hoped. I’ve been trying to brew a potion that can mitigate – or even completely erase – the effects of _veritaserum_ when taken in conjunction. So far, I’ve been able to reverse effects from individual components, but I haven’t found clear enough information to reverse the combined alchemical properties of the potion as a whole.”  
  
Harry gaped at him. “You’re _what?_ I didn’t know you were-…that you could even _do_ that kind of research.”  
  
Draco scrunched his brow with a scowl. “Well, you have way more classes than I do – and therefore way less free time - and it’s not like you ever _asked_.”  
  
“Oh Draco, that’s _brilliant!_” Hermione interrupted. “Why hadn’t I thought of that? If we were able to create a sort of potion that reverses the effects, then Aurors – and others for that matter – would be able to take it in advance of an interrogation situation if they’re undercover, or have some on hand as a defense. Merlin, the possibilities are endless!”  
  
Draco preened at the compliment, clearly trying to get his smugness under control. “Yes, that is the idea. It would be a potions sort of equivalent for Occlumency, to guard your secrets.”  
  
By this point, even Ron looked a little impressed. “That _would_ be useful in a stakeout. Potions-dealers are always quick to use _veritaserum_ on any Auror they have the good luck to catch.”  
  
Hermione inquired about the specific breakdown of the potions he’d already tried, and Draco launched into a longwinded summary of brewing practices that only paused temporarily for them to order food. By the end, Hermione was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement and suggestions. Throughout the conversation, Ron would occasionally glance over at Harry and roll his eyes fondly when Hermione came up with a new theory.  
  
And Draco – well, the intellectual repartee was surprisingly alluring coming from him. He had fully relaxed as he talked, body leaning back in that lazy, aristocratic way, his fingers dancing around the rim of his empty glass. Harry’s eyes caught on his lips, their easy curve as Draco smirked and laughed and smiled as he unwound. It was hard to believe this was the same man who started the night with a white-knuckled handshake.  
  
Harry was utterly enamored.  
  
The discussion slowly redirected towards Hermione’s work and accomplishments, and Harry felt a trickle of guilt for missing some of it while cataloging Draco’s every expression. It was only after pleasant break in conversation to chew and marvel at the deliciousness of their meals that he zoned back in to Hermione saying speculatively, “I think I get it now.”  
  
“What?” he asked, swallowing a delectably-seasoned prawn.  
  
“You two,” she responded with a grin. “How you work.”  
  
Harry’s cheeks flushed. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, when you told us…I mean, I wasn’t sure what to expect regarding how you’d act around one another. But now I’m seeing it’s not dissimilar from how you’ve always acted.”  
  
Draco snorted. “Well, how’d you expect us to act?”  
  
Hermione had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. “I’m not sure, but… I mean, the way Harry described you, it sounded like you two would be more…couple-y, I suppose. Rather than banter-y.”  
  
Draco swung his gaze around to Harry. “Merlin, Potter, how did you describe me?” He wore an amused, yet somewhat gloating grin.  
  
Harry choked on his beer. “I-I didn’t! Not _couple-y_ at least!”  
  
Ron smirked a bit sneakily. “Oh, I distinctly remember him saying something about Draco ‘being _so_ great’ and definitely something about ‘_devotion_.’”  
  
Harry tried to ward off his inevitable aneurysm. “How could-…_Ron!_” he squawked.  
  
Draco’s smirk widened, and his grey eyes positively _glowed_ with calculations of how to best use this information against Harry later. “_Really?_” he purred. “How interesting.”  
  
“I didn’t-…That was taken completely out of context!” he blustered.  
  
“But you don’t deny saying it.”  
  
Draco continued to meet his gaze with that infuriating grin, and he was torn between lust and mortification. As he scowled and muttered under his breath though, he did acknowledge that he would rather be the butt end of a joke and have the three of them smiling at him than the awkward silence from the beginning of the night. Somehow, by some miracle, everyone was getting along.  
  
When they finally left the restaurant – after another round and some more teasing chatter – it was on surprisingly good terms. Hermione asserted that she would gather some research over the next few days to bring to Draco, and Harry watched as they made plans together that didn’t even include him as an intermediary.  
  
Harry gave Ron and Hermione each a hug, and after gauging Draco’s twitchy discomfort at watching, they shook his hand goodnight instead. Which seemed to work out well for everybody, as the night might have gone well, but Draco Malfoy was still not an easy man to embrace.  
  
Harry smiled softly as they walked to the Apparition point, brushing his hand against Draco’s in a way he knew would not go unnoticed.

  


The next day, Draco was still teasing him relentlessly about his undying ‘devotion.’  
  
“Harry, pass me that tome over there, won’t you? I would get it myself, but I need some sort of sign that you’re as _devoted_ as I am. You’ve barely looked at me in the past twenty seconds!”  
  
Harry gritted his teeth, his brow furrowing with annoyance. “Get it yourself, Malfoy. I’m busy here.”  
  
“So cold! So _distant!_ How’s a man to know whether he’s loved?” Draco’s voice was laden with sarcasm, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched for Harry’s reaction.  
  
His throat was suddenly very dry. He had known Draco was too sharp to merely forget his bold – and rather _accidental_ – implication in last week’s class. But since he hadn’t brought it up, Harry had thought he’d escaped discussing the “L” word for the time being.  
  
_Should he say it?_ No, now wasn’t the right time. But was there ever a “right time” for these sorts of things?  
  
“I…” His eyes drank in Draco, sprawled in the emerald chair, hand propping up his chin. _Why shouldn’t he say it now?_ He opened his mouth with every intent of confessing, but all that came out was, “I…should head to class.”  
  
Draco gave him a calculated smile. “Alright.”  
  
_Merlin, what was he doing? Had he really been about to say it?_ They had only been “together” for two weeks now. While Harry was no expert in romance, even he knew that would be disturbingly soon. Draco would think him a slag, a sap – or worse, _insincere_.  
  
Harry was halfway out the door when he stopped and turned around. “Wait, today’s _patronus_ class – you’re supposed to come with me!”  
  
Draco’s expression tightened, but he reluctantly stood and followed after a minute of harrumphing and dramatically marking his page. “Very well.”  
  
Harry strode to class quickly, trying to mask the mess of emotions on his face. Draco kept pace without a word, but Harry could feel his speculative gaze trailing him in the silence. He really had no idea what he was supposed to do about all this.  
  
They arrived at the room, and Harry bustled around rearranging books and clutter that didn’t really need to be rearranged. Anything to keep himself busy while Draco lounged against his desk and continued to _stare_, like he could divine Harry’s secrets if he just looked long enough.  
  
Students began to filter in, milling about or taking their seats. “Mister Malfoy is joining us again?” one asked as she walked in.  
  
Harry knocked over a jar of mummified hands, but quickly righted it. “Erm, that’s right Sue. He’d like to learn _patronuses_ as well. I think it’s helpful to see that this is a complex spell, no matter your age, and there’s no shame in struggling with it.”  
  
Draco’s cheeks had pinkened, and he looked fairly pissed off. Embarrassment and anger often went hand in hand with him.  
  
Harry continued. “But just because he struggles with this particular spell, doesn’t mean he’s not brilliant at other ones. Ones even _I_ can’t do. Maybe, he’ll even show us some later…” He trailed off, glancing coyly at Draco’s expression which had morphed into wariness.  
  
“But anyway, let’s get started! Everyone up, and wands out.”  
  
The lesson proceeded similarly to the last, with a few more individual successes. Harry’s focus kept shifting back to Draco though, who had conjured more feeble light, yet nothing substantial. He could tell the man was losing heart.  
  
Harry was about to say something inspirational that hopefully didn’t sound patronizing, when he heard a shout of excitement.  
  
“I did it! Look!” Sam was practically trembling with excitement as a glimmering white owl swooped around his shoulders. He glanced proudly at Harry, before looking back at the boy to his left.  
  
“Good work, mate!” the boy – Antoni – said, clapping him on the back with an impressed look on his face.  
  
Sam was positively beaming. Even _Harry_ could tell what that look meant. And, as he had been repeatedly told of late, subtleties were not his specialty.  
  
Though, as far as he knew, Sam still hadn’t come out to anyone else. But despite that, he already looked so much happier than before he had talked with Harry and Draco. It made his heart swell with pride in the boy – and also a bit in himself. Maybe he really was making a difference in his students’ lives.  
  
When he glanced back at Draco, he found him smiling faintly as well at the scene unfolding before them. After a few moments, he launched back into practicing the _patronum_ charm, and though he didn’t conjure a corporeal form by the end of class, he didn’t look nearly so frustrated.  
  
As students filed out of the room, Harry noticed Sam hang back until he was the last one. Though he expected the boy to walk over and ask him something, surprisingly, he went over to Draco and whispered something in his ear.  
  
Draco snorted.  
  
With a quick nod at Harry, Sam left the classroom, face still aglow with his earlier accomplishment.  
  
“What was that about?” Harry asked after he had left.  
  
Draco glanced up at him, smirking. “Nothing. Some amusing presumptuousness.”  
  
“Which means?”  
  
“You’re just mad he didn’t want your advice today.”  
  
Harry grinned, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up, Malfoy. I’m not _you_.”  
  
Draco’s lips pulled into that lopsided smile. “Right. You only _wish_ you were.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Like I mentioned before, I LOVE writing awkward situations - can you tell?  
Anyway, my life is calming down slightly, so I was finally able to get some more writing done today and get back on track with the story. Finally. Hope everyone had a good week! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	26. True Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: oral sex; anal sex; orgasm delay; roleplay; humiliation/insults
> 
> This chapter is basically just sex.

Holiday break was rapidly approaching, and it struck Harry the next day that he had less than two weeks left in the semester. Suddenly, the task of handing out final assignments and the subsequent grading he would have to do fell heavy on his shoulders.  
  
“Why am I teaching twelve classes? _Twelve_. Do you know how ridiculous that is that Minerva trusted me with _twelve_ classes?”  
  
Draco smirked from where he was lounging in the emerald armchair. He flipped a page in his book, not even bothering to look up. “Mhmm, _terrible_.”  
  
“There’s not even enough time in the day to make up final essay topics for that many, let alone actually _read_ them before grades are due.”  
  
After a disinterested pause, Draco supplied a “Right.”  
  
“And don’t even get me started on work-life balance. I can’t even turn off my ‘teacher brain’ or whatever at _night_, because students keep coming to me with relationship drama and family drama and worrying-about-grades-they-haven’t-even-gotten drama!” He heaved a sigh, staring off past his cluttered bookshelves and whirring skeleton mobiles. “I think I’m going mental.”  
  
“Nice.”  
  
Harry’s gaze snapped to his boyfriend. “Are you even listening?”  
  
“Hmm _awful_.” Draco’s eyes were still glued to his book, and he twirled a quill between his fingers as he read.  
  
“Oh _fuck_ you. Just because you only have _two_ flying classes doesn’t mean-”  
  
“No need to be jealous, Potter.”  
  
“Oh, so _now_ you’re listening?”  
  
Draco rested his hand between the pages to mark his spot and glanced up with amusement. “I was always listening; I just can’t pass up an opportunity to encourage your melodramatics.”  
  
Harry scowled fiercely. “I’m not melodramatic. I just have an _actually hard_ job, unlike someone.”  
  
“And I spend all my time eating bon bons and pretending I’m Celestina Warbeck,” he said in a dry voice.  
  
“You literally _do_, Draco-”  
  
“Figuratively. ‘You _figuratively_ do.’”  
  
“Go fuck yourself! Or a book. Whichever you’re more in love with at the moment.”  
  
A lazy smile trailed across Draco’s face. “I like how none of my options involve a certain, slovenly Gryffindor, who – incidentally - has ink smudged all over his face and looks like he could use a shag.”  
  
“Yeah, well he’s probably too busy to do anything except grade papers until he _dies_.”  
  
“Really? What a shame.” Draco stretched languidly in his chair, smirking as his hand slid to rest on his crotch. “Guess I’ll go with option one then.”  
  
Harry’s mouth went dry as he watched Draco slip his hand under the waistband and stroke himself slowly under the fabric. “What are you-” he began in a strangled voice.  
  
“What am I _what?_” Draco grinned, pumping steadily until Harry could see the outline of his dick through the trousers.  
  
“You can’t-…We’re in my _office!_”  
  
Draco pouted mockingly. “Oh, is that not allowed…_Professor?_” He raised a daring eyebrow, not breaking eye contact as Harry’s throat bobbed and a flush rose to his cheeks. “Didn’t stop you last time.”  
  
“_Fuck_, Draco…I have _work_.” But the protest was weak on his lips. His hand had paused in writing a comment on an essay, and ink was bleeding through the parchment onto the desktop. He didn’t even notice.  
  
“I’m not stopping you. By all means, work away! _I_ don’t need your help to have a good time.” Then, Draco let his head fall back against the velvet of the armchair, letting out a soft groan.  
  
His eyes flicked back to Harry’s to gauge his reaction.  
  
Harry swallowed again, but it did nothing to stem the thirst writhing inside him.  
  
“Merlin. Please. I can’t-...I need to work. _Draco_.” The last word came out like a plea, yet Draco still remained unmoved.  
  
With relish, he popped open the top button of his trousers, freeing enough space for his head to peek out from the fabric with each thrust.  
  
_Motherfucker_.  
  
The tip of Harry’s quill snapped, and he noticed the ink for the first time – by that point, dripping into his lap. It had been a self-replenishing quill, meant to manifest ink as long as it was pressed down to write.  
  
“Shit, my papers-” he began, but then Draco let out another delicious moan, and he forgot all about the ruined essay. “Hell. _Fuck_.”  
  
Draco’s eyes, bleary with lust, came to focus on Harry once more, though he seemed to be struggling to maintain control over himself long enough to speak. “Well…_Professor_,” he purred. “Is it against the rules?”  
  
Harry’s dick leapt in his trousers. There was something intoxicating about the way Draco’s lips curled around the title that had him rock-hard in a matter of moments.  
  
He licked his lips. “I…uh…no?”  
  
Draco smiled indulgently. “Good. I like knowing you make exceptions for your favorite student.”  
  
“My favorite-… You’re _not_ my student!” Harry sputtered, wondering what the hell Draco was playing at.  
  
Draco paused his ministrations and grinned. “Too soon for that particular scenario?” He took in Harry’s wild yet speechless gesticulations and laughed. “Alright then, let’s go with…”  
  
“Coworkers,” Harry supplied at last. “Let’s go with coworkers.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes with a huff. “Doesn’t leave much to the imagination, that.” But he resumed his stroking, looking up at Harry through those long, blonde lashes. “Fine. I like knowing you make exceptions for your favorite _coworker_, Professor.”  
  
Harry’s heart still stuttered in his chest.  
  
“Can’t have you letting any others of our dear associates come in and use your office as they please.”  
  
“No,” Harry croaked, when the heated gaze became too much. “No one else. Just you, Draco.”  
  
Draco paused, his lip twitching up into a smirk again. “_Draco?_ Getting a bit familiar, are we? Last I checked it was ‘Mister Malfoy.’” He lifted his chin defiantly. “Especially since you make me call you ‘Professor.’”  
  
“I…” _I don’t_, he was planning to say, but he also suspected he was ruining whatever their new “scenario” was. “I have to keep up appearances,” he said instead, leaning back against his desk with his arms folded. Draco played coy all the time; he figured he’d give it a try.  
  
Draco chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting in a way that Harry knew meant he appreciated this turn of events. “And why’s that, Professor? Scared I’ll lead you astray?” He jerked himself more roughly, and Harry couldn’t help but glancing down to watch.  
  
When he looked back up at Draco’s face, the man’s eyes were laughing at him.  
  
“Or are you scared everyone will find out how corrupted you already are?”  
  
Draco’s smooth voice sent shivers up his spine. He struggled to maintain his cool façade. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, _Mister Malfoy_. The only reason I let you do what you please in the privacy of my office is so that you don’t embarrass yourself in _public_.”  
  
Draco’s brows shot up, and this time, he laughed in earnest. “Oh _Professor_, I assure you that the only one embarrassing themselves in public is _you_.” He withdrew his hand from his pants quite suddenly and stood, stepping into Harry and pinning him against the desk. His hands caught Harry’s wrists, and then he was leaning in, lips brushing against his jawbone as he whispered Harry’s filthy little secrets aloud.  
  
“Like how you watch me at the Quidditch games,” he murmured. “The look you give me is positively _criminal_, Professor. And the others notice. You think they don’t, but they do. Last game, I saw Longbottom flapping his gums by your ear, but you didn’t even break your gaze.”  
  
Harry’s blush crept down his neck. Thinking Draco was done, he moved to pull away, but the blonde held him fast.  
  
“And afterwards? Behind the locker rooms? You think you’re so clever – you think you’re so _bloody_ clever – but people saw that one too. A reporter even snapped a photo. I had to pay him off before it hit the press.” Draco pressed further into him, his leg sliding between Harry’s to press against his aching erection. “I kept the picture though,” he continued, his voice like red wine. “I kept it, and I look at it every night to jack off before bed.”  
  
Harry’s breath was coming in short, labored gasps - when he remembered to breathe at all. _Draco…was lying. Wasn’t he?_ It was all for the roleplay – they spent most nights together, so there was no way it was true. And he would have showed him the picture if it existed. Probably.  
  
But none of that stopped the little thrill of excitement at imagining it. The image of Draco pulling out that photograph, watching Harry lean in and kiss him over and over again as he touched himself, was altogether too much to bear. Merlin, he was so graceful the way he did it too. The way his one hand gripped the base, while the other splayed over his abdomen. Forgetting the repercussions of such a photo, he _wanted_ it to exist – if just an excuse to watch Draco wanking every night.  
  
Harry whined. He needed some kind of release, and fast.  
  
But Draco still wasn’t done.  
  
“Merlin, and Halloween. The way you dressed up for me in your little suit and kept tilting your head as we danced. If I didn’t know any better, Potter, I’d have thought you wanted me to _bite_ you.”  
  
Harry shivered violently as Draco’s teeth caught his ear and tugged.  
  
“And then you have the audacity to stand there, telling me to call you ‘Professor,’ and pretending we’re uninvolved? I think we both know the truth - you’re only keeping your distance because you’ve already fallen for me.”  
  
Harry bit his lip hard. Partially to hold in another moan, and partially to stem the profession of love that rose unbidden to those lips. This was a _game_. Draco was toying with him, throwing in enough truth to make it believable. It didn’t change the fact that this was a brand-new relationship, not yet ready to throw “love” into the mix.  
  
“I…”  
  
Draco finally drew back from his ear, but the eye contact he gave was so much worse. It made it nearly impossible to say the rest.  
  
“You’re making things up, Malfoy.”  
  
Draco’s eyes glinted. “Am I?” He slid a hand beneath Harry’s shirt, brushing over a nipple and his rapidly beating heart. “Oh, and it’s _Mister_, remember?”  
  
Remembering his role, Harry took a deep breath, collecting himself and hoping the new framework would allow him to get a grip before he said something he regretted. Instead of melting into the touch like he normally would, he planted his palms on either side of him on the desk and forced himself to relax into a casual leaning posture. If Draco wanted to play, he would play.  
  
And maybe he would think twice next time about interrupting Harry while he was working.  
  
“I think I’ll call you ‘Mister’ when you earn it, _Malfoy_.”  
  
Draco’s hand paused on its path across his abs, and Harry could tell he was surprised.  
  
“How _dare_ you, Potter-”  
  
“Two measly flying classes, and you can’t even beat me at your own _subject_. You’re going to have to try harder than that to earn my respect.”  
  
The blonde huffed in outrage. That was the great thing about Draco – like Harry, he always rose to the bait. Even now, he was glaring down at him, eyes fiery and defiant like they had been in school, his mouth set and furious.  
  
Harry loved that look.  
  
Draco opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He fisted Harry’s shirt, leaning in with narrowed eyes. “And how, _pray tell_, does one impress The Great Savior?” he whispered dangerously. “Do I have to _disarm_ a few people? Write up a test with multiple spelling errors?”  
  
Harry let himself be pulled closer, then glanced away in feigned disinterest. “For someone so _mouthy_, I’d have thought you would be more skilled with your _tongue_.”  
  
Draco gaped, pinpricks of red dotting his cheeks as he remained posed to throttle him.  
  
Harry smirked, patting his thigh condescendingly. Knowing it would drive Draco mad. “Come on Malfoy, _impress me_.”  
  
Draco clenched his jaw so hard, it looked like it would snap.  
  
“You’re going to fucking regret this, Potter,” he said, shoving him roughly so that he sat down on the desk. He leaned in close, their noses almost touching. His eyes glittered with the dare. “When I’m done, you’re going to be singing a different tune.”  
  
Harry laughed in his face. “Unless your blowjobs are better than your insults, you’re getting a ‘T’ for ‘Troll.’”  
  
Draco shoved him again, and he caught himself with his hands, laughing still. Then Draco was dropping to his knees, undoing Harry’s belt with several angry jerks and letting it clatter to the floor. Before Harry could even brace himself, Draco had swallowed him to the base, encasing him in that warm, wet heat that made him tense involuntarily.  
  
He bit his lip again.  
  
Draco’s tongue swirled around the bottom, drawing up his shaft with a painstaking slowness, and it took everything in Harry’s power to keep from crying out. Then he was bobbing his head again, taking him down to the root as parchment crumpled beneath Harry’s curling fingers. He took an unsteady breath.  
  
_I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew_, Harry thought as Draco laved attention to the dip beneath his head. And, seeming to sense Harry’s change in mood, Draco suddenly pulled off of his prick with a glance up at his face.  
  
Harry immediately composed his expression, but it was too late. Draco smirked, licking lightly up the side, but not taking him back into his mouth. He didn’t need to – he’d captured the entirety of Harry’s focus and he fucking knew it. His lips skated across the tip of Harry’s dick, pressed feathery kisses down his balls, and dipped into his inner thighs; all of it lovely, none of it substantial. None of it easing that terrible pressure.  
  
Harry endured the teasing in silence for as long as he could, but after several minutes, he found he couldn’t take it anymore. “Draco,” he warned, though it came out as more of a groan.  
  
The man looked up at his face and laughed. “No, I don’t think I’ll answer to that, Potter.”  
  
He nibbled softly at the tip, and Harry failed to repress a shudder. “Fine. _Fine_. Mister Malfoy-”  
  
Draco snorted victoriously. He took Harry’s head in his mouth for a moment, then pulled off with a merciless _pop_. “No, I don’t think I’m feeling that one either. I think you’ll have to go full ‘_Professor_’ for me now to make up for what you’ve said.”  
  
“And _I_ think, you haven’t nearly earned that degree,” Harry snapped, because he was a fucking masochist.  
  
At that, Draco smiled sweetly and pulled away from his cock altogether.  
  
“Are you finished, or do you want to rack up some more punishment while you’re at it?” His voice was level, yet challenging.  
  
“Yeah-…You know, _fuck it_. No. No, I’m not done. You’re a lazy prat, you’re an easy grader, and you don’t even attend staff meetings! The way you spread jam on your toast is needlessly meticulous, and if you read any more than you already do, I’d say you’re more of a swot than _Hermione!_”  
  
Draco was grinning now. “Is that all?”  
  
“No! You fucking roll around in your sleep and steal all the covers like the selfish git you are, and…and-”  
  
“Are you sure you want to keep going?” Draco met his eyes with a raised brow.  
  
“And you sort your closet in a weird way, and you’re really fussy…and…” Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “And…_hell, Malfoy_, are you just going to keep sitting there, or are you going to fuck me?”  
  
A low chuckle. “I’m not.”  
  
Harry’s eyes snapped open.  
  
“Going to fuck you, that is.” Draco smirked, his eyes glowing and gloating.  
  
“What do you mean, you’re not…” he said, incredulously.  
  
“Well, Harry,” Draco started, very matter of fact. He began to rise to his feet. “You’re clearly a glutton for punishment – you’ve proven that quite thoroughly in the past few minutes. And how cruel would I be to deny you?”  
  
He didn’t like where this was going. Draco needed to kneel back down right now and stop spouting this nonsense – _why was he standing and straightening his clothes?_ “I…I was joking, I didn’t mean…” he floundered. “I thought-”  
  
When Draco said nothing, yet continued to smile at him in that infuriating way, he continued.  
  
“I’ll be good, _Professor_. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?”  
  
Draco laughed, likely at how pathetically desperate he sounded. “Quite. But I’m afraid you still have more punishment to face first. You did have a rather _long_ list of complaints after all.” His teeth flashed like a predator.  
  
Then he was moving towards the door.  
  
_Fuck fuck fuck_.  
  
“Yeah, well I was rather hoping the _punishment_ would be sexual in nature,” he tried, looking helplessly at Draco’s back.  
  
The blonde paused by the door, checking his watch with a flourish. “Yes, well, _regrettably_, I have a previous engagement with Ms. Granger at two, and I don’t want to be late. I suppose I’m not quite so _lazy_ and _unoccupied_ as you think I am,” he added. His fingers rested on the doorknob, and he glanced back with a smirk. “Oh, and Harry? I want you to understand something through this.”  
  
His eyes were deep and so, so dark.  
  
“It’s not punishment if you _enjoy it_.”  
  
He flicked his wand in Harry’s direction, then turned and walked out of the room.

  


Harry was going insane. Whatever Draco had cast had prevented him from orgasming, and it had been nearly an hour since he left. He had tried to get off - _sweet Merlin_, he had _tried_ – but whenever he was close, he felt the sensation tamper down and skitter away from him just before he could find release. It was unprecedented. It was torturous. It was _cruel_.  
  
_I just wanted to rub one out so I can get back to my work_, he thought despairingly. As it was, he was neither fucking Draco _nor_ getting anything done, and the more time that slipped through his fingers, the more desperate he got.  
  
At this point, he was almost sobbing with arousal.  
  
_Fuck Draco Malfoy and his sadistic little games. Fuck dating a Slytherin. Fuck_ roleplay.  
  
He paused his pacing and threw himself back into his desk chair. Maybe if he ignored it hard enough, he could still do some work.  
  
Harry picked up a quill between shaking fingers and looked down at the pages strewn across his desk. An image of Draco licking up the length of his cock flashed through his mind. He rubbed his eyes and tried to grade the first few questions. His fingers knocked into a crumpled piece of parchment, reminding him of how Draco had thrown him onto the desk. It reignited his lust quite suddenly and consumingly, and he threw down the quill in self-disgust.  
  
“What the fuck am I doing?”  
  
“Certainly not yourself,” came a smug voice as Draco entered the room.  
  
Harry whirled towards the door. “_You!_ You _fucking_ wanker – what did you do to me?”  
  
With unaffected grace, Draco sauntered over to his chair where he slipped off his outer robes and folded them onto the back. “I cursed you. _Obviously_.”  
  
Harry was up on his feet in distress. “Yeah, you _cursed_ me. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been like this?”  
  
Following his frantic gestures, Draco’s eyes slid down to Harry’s bulging trousers before returning to settle on his face. His mouth quirked, but his voice also pitched lower when he responded. “Merlin, Harry, _still?_”  
  
“What do you mean ‘_still?_’ You were the one who did this!”  
  
“I prevented you from coming, yes,” he said, voice amused. “I certainly didn’t force you to keep yourself aroused for an hour and…” he checked his watch, “-fifteen minutes. Nice stamina, Potter.”  
  
Harry wanted to scream. He wobbled over to where Draco was standing - perfectly composed, hands tucked in his pockets - and collapsed to his knees.  
  
“Take it off, Draco. Or _Professor_ – or whatever you want to be called. Just please.”  
  
Draco tipped Harry’s chin up with a finger. He smiled. “This is a good look for you, Potter. On your knees. _Begging_.”  
  
“Please, Draco-”  
  
“I think I’m liking ‘Professor’ at the moment.”  
  
By now, Harry was clinging to Draco’s trousers. “_Professor_ then. Please. Just cancel the spell. I’m going _crazy_-”  
  
“Have you learned your lesson?” Draco interrupted.  
  
Harry stopped mid-sentence. “I-I…”  
  
He continued. “Have you been good and endured your punishment?”  
  
Harry’s cheeks flamed, but he nodded all the same. “_Please_, Professor, I’ve been good-”  
  
The Slytherin laughed. “I don’t know - I’m hearing a lot of complaining. Maybe I should leave you a few more hours to get the point across.”  
  
Harry fisted the material at Draco’s knees. “No! I’ll be good. I swear. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”  
  
Draco carded his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Hmm, I do like the sound of that. Alright, Potter. I want you to tell me what kept you aroused in an empty room for the past hour.”  
  
Harry licked at his lips. “You. My thoughts of you.”  
  
“Describe them to me.”  
  
He swallowed. “W-well…first I thought of you sucking my dick. So suddenly like that, and how it felt so-…”  
  
When he made no move to finish the sentiment, Draco lifted a brow and inquired, “Felt so _what_, Potter?”  
  
“Good,” he choked out. Merlin, this was embarrassing. He had never felt so vulnerable before. It was so much easier to _do_ sexual things than _talk_ about them.  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut before continuing. “And then I thought of you pushing me down onto the desk. How hot that was.” He paused, then forced himself to say the rest, voice cracking on the words. “How I wanted you to throw me down and fuck me.”  
  
Draco drew in a breath.  
  
Harry opened his eyes and caught the simmering gaze the blonde had leveled at him.  
  
“Every time I think I have you cornered, you always surprise me,” Draco muttered, tracing Harry’s bottom lip with his thumb. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and returned with a smirk. “Alright, Potter. If you want all that, then you’d best get me started; since – unlike you – I haven’t been idling around, ramping myself up for the past hour.”  
  
Harry’s hands flew to Draco’s trouser buttons, shaking slightly as he undid them.  
  
Draco was a liar. He was clearly just as “ramped up” as Harry, judging by the erection he was sporting. But Harry chose to say nothing, instead dipping his head to take the hard length into his mouth. He didn’t want anything to jeopardize his chances of getting pounded into his desk.  
  
Fuck, but Draco’s cock was so perfect. The way it looked, the way it tasted, the way it slid up and down his throat and jumped at Harry’s moans. Hell, he could feel the now-familiar sensation of approaching the edge - just from sucking - before his orgasm cruelly skittered away.  
  
Draco pulled him off with a fistful of hair. His eyes were black with lust. “Fuck, Potter, you ready to get your wish?”  
  
Without waiting for an answer, he hauled Harry to his feet, kissing him savagely on the mouth. Then they were walking back, Harry not realizing where they were going until Draco threw him across the desk.  
  
“Flip,” he ordered.  
  
Harry scrambled to turn over. Parchment tore and flittered to the ground, and as soon as he was face-down, Draco yanked Harry’s trousers down to reveal his arse.  
  
Harry heard him groan a curse before his fingers came down to knead the still-bruised flesh of his bum, the touches sending shivers throughout his body.  
  
“Draco, the spell-” he moaned.  
  
He heard a breathy chuckle behind him. “I want you to last at least until I’m _in_ you,” Draco said, tugging his arse cheeks apart. His finger traced across the rim, and Harry shuddered. “You’re so sensitive.”  
  
Harry clenched his teeth, cheeks flaming. Draco was right – without the spell, he definitely wouldn’t last. “Well, get on with it then,” he grunted.  
  
He heard a whispered incantation, and then Draco was sliding a finger inside him. He took it easily, hissing in relief and rocking against Draco’s hand to show his impatience for more.  
  
“So eager,” Draco muttered, sliding a second finger home. He leaned up by Harry’s ear. “Slut.”  
  
Harry shivered again, his skin breaking into gooseflesh. He clenched around Draco’s fingers, wishing he could ride out this euphoria wrought simply by the man’s voice.  
  
“You like that, huh?” Draco drew back, holding Harry’s neck against the desk with his free hand. “I always knew you’d be filthy.”  
  
He added a third finger, and Harry moaned.  
  
After working him a bit looser, Draco pulled his hand away entirely, wiping lube on Harry’s arse cheek. He waited for Draco’s cock to replace it, but when nothing came, he turned to look.  
  
“Draco, _please_-”  
  
Draco smirked down at him, one hand still pressing him down, while the other stroked his dick to its full length. “If only the Wizarding World could see you now – all prepped and needy and _begging_ for my cock.”  
  
Harry whined, biting his lip so hard it drew blood. And then Draco was entering him, pushing in with a slow, burning pressure.  
  
“_Draco_-”  
  
He thrust in deep, gathering Harry’s hips in his hands to pull him back further.  
  
“Draco, _please_…”  
  
He pulled back with painstaking slowness, before slamming back in to the hilt.  
  
Harry’s elbows crashed onto the desk. “Draco, the spell…_please_-”  
  
Draco cursed, then dug his fingers into Harry’s left hip as his other hand fumbled to find his wand. After several moments of bittersweet eternity, Harry heard a mumbled countercurse, the wand tip pressing into his back.  
  
All of a sudden, he was shuddering, the weight of the past hour’s sensations crashing down upon him all at once. The delicious pressure of Draco’s fingers seemed instantly amplified; the tip of his dick stretched Harry’s entrance so blissfully-  
  
“Not yet, Potter,” Draco hissed, hauling him back onto his cock by his hair.  
  
Back arched, muscles clenched, Harry could feel the full length of Draco pressing inside him – filling up every inch of him with the most incredible heat.  
  
He came, hard.  
  
His body tensed, seizing up around Draco’s cock, and he watched as his own release shot across the desk, across papers, across sprawled open books. He shuddered one last time, the last bit of cum dripping onto the table, and he sagged in Draco’s firm grip.  
  
Draco thrust twice more before he too came in a string of praises and curses.  
  
He bit into Harry’s shoulder as his body jerked in pleasure. Finally, he pulled away, his fluids leaking down Harry’s thigh in his wake.  
  
“Well,” he said, once he’d stumbled over to his chair and sat down heavily. “Was it everything you fantasized?” He tucked himself back into his trousers, yet left the buttons messy and undone for once.  
  
On unsteady arms, Harry flipped himself over, turning away from the carnage of paperwork across his desk. He attempted to stand, but his knees gave out, and he slid to the floor. He knew was wearing a goofy-looking grin. “Fuck yes.”  
  
Draco smiled. “Good. Next time, we can-”  
  
“Draco,” Harry interrupted. “It was wonderful. It was hot and intense and terribly arousing. But if you _ever_ prevent me from doing my work again, I will fucking _kill_ you.”  
  
And Draco, damn him to hell, just raised a brow like it was a fucking challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy.  
...  
I don't really have a witty remark for this one, so I just hope y'all enjoyed! I DO have an update for y'all though - I have a fun surprise that I'm going to post on Valentine's Day. However, it's not a direct part of this story (let's just say that my boyfriend wrote an..._interesting_ parody chapter of TNFI that I wanted to share with you), so you'll have to check out my regular page if you're only subscribed to this story. But once it's up, I'll link it here as well. [(**Update: It's posted, so view it here!)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588300) Get ready. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	27. A Few Simple Lies

“So how did your potions thing with Hermione go?” Harry asked after several hours of furious grading – which, of course, had followed a session of furious cleaning. After all, he’d done unspeakable things to the stack of papers on his desk, and without magic, he certainly would’ve lost both his teaching license and any morsel of self-respect he had left.  
  
Draco, who’d been surprisingly good after his earlier stunt, looked up from the potions book he was notating. “Oh, wonderful actually. She gave me a completely new perspective on the issues I was encountering, and I think I’ll be able to make some serious progress now.” He tapped his quill against the pages, eyes alight with calculations Harry had never – and probably _would_ never – understand.  
  
“That’s great! What, erm, were the issues?”  
  
Draco snorted. “What, you want me to tell you so you can pretend to be interested in potions for the first time in your life?”  
  
“I was interested in them sixth year!” he protested, then immediately regretted the reference.  
  
To his relief, Draco simply seemed amused. He reclined with a sly smirk across his face. “No, you weren’t. You were _interested_ in having a magical textbook with all the right answers that would let you show off about yet another thing.”  
  
Harry swallowed. “So you, er…know about the book then?”  
  
Draco raised a brow. “Obviously.” When Harry bit his lip and waited, he sighed and continued. “Snape told me at the end of the year. It explained a lot – you were always shite at potions before that, so I knew you had to be cheating somehow.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t develop an interest in potions that year,” Harry said petulantly.  
  
Draco just leveled him with a disbelieving look. “Harry, you don’t even know the difference between monkshood and wolfbane.”  
  
“Err, one’s a…root?”  
  
“They’re the _same plant_, you dolt!”  
  
Harry pursed his lips. “Well, that was an unfair trap.”  
  
“A ‘trap’ that Snape used on _first years_.” Draco huffed and ran his hand through his hair. “Regardless, my original point stands. You neither care about nor would understand the intricacies of brewing this potion, so just ask about _what it does_ currently rather than a component list.”  
  
Harry blinked. “Okay. What does it do right now?”  
  
“Right now,” Draco continued dramatically, “it causes people to lie compulsively, instead of simply resist the truth.”  
  
Harry almost laughed. “Okay? Well, isn’t that countering the _veritaserum_ still?”  
  
Draco’s brow furrowed. “Well, in a way, yes – however, the whole point is to remain in control of yourself and situation. As it is right now, my potion makes you lie about random things that cross your mind – which, depending on your random thoughts, can get a bit preposterous and would certainly raise suspicions in an investigative scenario.”  
  
“What kinds of things does it make you say? Also, who are you even testing this on?”  
  
Draco frowned. “Myself, _obviously_. I wouldn’t dare test it on someone else – do you know how many people already think I’m trying to poison them, given my past?”  
  
Harry thought back to the slander articles and sighed. “Fair point. But _I_ don’t think that – why don’t you test it on me?” At Draco’s incredulous look, he added, “It’s always good to see how different people react to a potion.”  
  
Now Draco was rubbing his forehead with a wearied look. “Harry, the effects are _unpredictable_. Which is the reason I test it in isolation. You could say something you regret horribly - which is the very _nature_ of dealing with _veritaserum_.”  
  
Harry pouted. “I don’t see why you’re making it a big deal – it just makes you lie, yeah? Can’t be too bad.”  
  
Even if he wasn’t good at _making_ potions, at least he could be useful at _testing_ them.  
  
“Harry…”  
  
“Just a drop, alright? I’m curious.” He waited expectantly, but when Draco made no move to oblige, he continued. “You have some on you, don’t you?”  
  
The blonde glowered. “Yes,” he admitted.  
  
“Then, come on.”  
  
Draco drew two vials from his inner pocket, glaring at Harry all the while. “For the record, I think this is a bad decision, and you’re a stubborn idiot for making it.” He uncorked the vials. “You’re getting one drop of each – the _veritaserum_ and my potion - and the effects should fade within three to five minutes. Tilt your head back.”  
  
Harry shivered as Draco’s free hand caught his chin and positioned the first vial above. He nodded, and Draco tipped a drop of each into his open mouth before stepping away.  
  
“How do you feel?”  
  
“Awful,” Harry replied. Then, he frowned. He really didn’t feel any different than before. But then his lips were moving again, and he was saying, “Everything has changed, and I feel terribly off.”  
  
Though still appearing nervous, Draco did seem to be fighting back amusement at the bold pronouncement delivered in such a neutral tone. His lip twitched towards a smile before he schooled it back into a flat line. “I’m sorry to hear that.”  
  
Harry’s eyes trailed Draco’s hands as they stowed the vial back into his pocket. Merlin, they were nice.  
  
Unbidden, he blurted: “It’s not like I like your hands or anything.”  
  
Harry stopped breathing. _Why had he said that?_  
  
Draco glanced up sharply, brows raised. At Harry’s vibrant blush, he relaxed into a smirk. “Of course you don’t.”  
  
To Harry’s horror, he continued to speak. “Or your long, slender legs.”  
  
Draco sat across from him, propping his chin in his palm with a rather smug expression. “Right.”  
  
“Or your perfect, perfect hair. Other people might like that hair and the way it glistens in the sun, but not me! No siree!”  
  
Harry clapped a hand over his mouth in mortification.  
  
“Do tell me more,” Draco said, and his grin was absolutely devilish.  
  
Harry didn’t want to, but his mouth didn’t seem to be under his control anymore. “And it’s not like I like your long, thick cock-”  
  
_How do I stop?_ he thought desperately, muffling his words with his palm. _I could accidentally admit something more serious, like_-  
  
And the moment he thought it, his lips were already forming lies around the words. “I don’t-”  
  
Harry leapt up, casting _muffliato_ faster than the word “love” could fall from his mouth. He stood there, heaving, gazing down in Draco’s widened eyes and lamenting how close he’d come to ruining all of this.  
  
Draco probably thought he was a lunatic.  
  
Cheeks burning, Harry strode to the corner of the room, where he slumped into an open chair and cast a stronger silencing charm to wait out his remaining time. He mumbled to himself about how this was all perfectly fair and he loved being crumpled under the weight of his own hubris. When he no longer felt compelled to speak, he lifted the charms with a deep sigh.  
  
“So…” Draco started tentatively from across the room. “Perhaps, you’ll listen to me next time?”  
  
Harry huffed, moving back to sit with Draco again. “Yeah, whatever.”  
  
He could feel the man’s curious gaze still lingering upon him.  
  
Harry could feel his skin itch. “I was wrong, okay? What do you want – a trophy?” And, despite Draco’s silence: “Now not another word.” 

  


There wasn’t any dueling club this week or next to give the students time to study for tests and lengthen their essays, and Harry was quietly relieved. He worked late into the night – stopping only when Draco dragged him bodily from his desk and threw him into bed with a stern “That’s enough.”  
  
The next day went much the same, and before he knew it, the weekend was almost upon him. For his free period Friday afternoon, he grumpily allowed Draco to tow him to flying class to “take a bloody break once in a while” and was surprised to see how much the first years had improved since he last visited.  
  
“Johnny, are you ready? Eyes over here.” Draco lobbed a quaffle at the boy - which he actually _caught_. The class was hovering in a circle about fifteen feet off the ground, and Draco had him pass it along to the next person, who sent it on to the next person, until the quaffle had traveled around the ring.  
  
When it had made several revolutions and moved back to the other side, one of the kids dropped the ball and had to go retrieve it. The girl to Harry’s right angled her broom closer in the slight break and asked, “Are you and Mister Malfoy going to have another Quidditch match today?”  
  
He glanced up at her, curious. “Don’t think so. Why?”  
  
She frowned slightly. “Oh. Okay. It’s just…he always saves his best moves to show off when you’re here. Like the barrel rolls and feints. He doesn’t usually do those, because they’re ‘too advanced’ for us.”  
  
When Harry only blinked at her, she continued.  
  
“I like seeing the hard moves, because I’m going to be a Quidditch star one day,” she whispered conspiratorially. “So I need to practice all I can.” She dove her broom a few feet in a loop, then floated back up next to him. “See?”  
  
Harry found himself smiling. She reminded him a bit of himself at age 11, the joy of flying still fresh and new. “Yes, you’re very good.” He glanced over at Draco, who was now demonstrating the safest way to swing the beater’s bat. “And I’ll see if I can persuade _Mister Malfoy_ over there to break out some of his better moves.”  
  
She squealed with excitement.  
  
After going through several more passing drills, Harry flew over next to Draco. “You want to scrimmage with the students? I think they could handle it now.”  
  
Draco raised a brow at him. “Of course they could. _I_ trained them, after all. The question is: are _you_ ready for a scrimmage?”  
  
“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”  
  
Draco smirked, readjusting his gloves with that relaxed balance he made look so effortless. “Well, I mean, you’re a bit out of practice, aren’t you? You spend all your time grading papers these days. Not quite the pinnacle of _fitness_, that.”  
  
Harry felt his cheeks heating in indignation. He bit back a comment about all the feats of fitness Draco had already seen with his own eyes. “_You_…! I’m perfectly capable, thank you.” He ran a hand through his hair aggressively. “I could still beat you if I was bedridden.”  
  
Draco snorted, then called the class to attention. “Alright everyone, listen up! We’re going to play a scrimmage for the rest of class. This half,” he pointed to those on the right, “are going to be with Professor Potter on team red, while the rest of you are with me on team green. Any complaints?”  
  
When Draco was using his stern, teacherly tone, no one seemed eager to speak up.  
  
“Well, then. Circle up with your team and choose positions!”  
  
The girl who had spoken to him, Maribelle, luckily was on Harry’s team, as he let her be their Seeker. She had nearly burst with excitement when he selected her.  
  
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it! I’ll catch the snitch faster than anyone!”  
  
He divvied up the remaining positions, letting the kids choose what they wanted first and ended up as the last Chaser himself. When he glanced across the pitch, he saw Draco giving a beater’s bat a few practice swings. The blonde noticed him watching and winked.  
  
_Merlin_. He really needed to talk to Minerva about this again, as hiding this relationship was slowly killing him.  
  
Heart still fluttering, he boarded his broom and took off with the blow of the whistle. He nearly started after the snitch before Maribelle raced past him in pursuit. Remembering he was a Chaser this time, he turned his eyes towards the quaffle – right now in the hand of a girl on the green team. Harry shot in that direction, trying to keep his gaze off of Draco.  
  
That approach backfired on him several minutes later when a bludger zoomed past his left ear with only an inch to spare.  
  
He swiveled in the air to face his opponent, only to find Draco poised with a fiery look in his eyes. _Look at me_, he seemed to demand - without so much as a sound.  
  
Merlin, he was needy.  
  
Harry sighed, remembering his promise to Maribelle. “Oh, fine,” he mumbled aloud, aiming his broom towards Draco and taking off. The git grinned as he barrel-rolled out of the way, proceeding to zigzag away from Harry’s subsequent chase.  
  
It was enough to sufficiently impress the class _and_ its future Quidditch stars.  
  
And in the end, the red team won when Maribelle caught the snitch. 

  


On Saturday morning, Harry had been planning on getting up early in order to start the day off with some more grading; however, instead of beginning productively, he woke to a rather frantic Floo call from Ron.  
  
“Harry, you there?” A cloud of green smoke sputtered from the embers.  
  
Harry tumbled out of bed and half crawled, half ran to the fireplace while Draco grumbled behind him.  
  
“Ron? What is it? What _time_ is it? Are you alright?”  
  
“Yeah, mate, I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. I just need some help! Can you come through?”  
  
Harry shook his head blearily. “Help? What do you need?”  
  
Ron grimaced. “I’m drowning in wedding preparations over here. I can’t tell the difference between any of the colors they’re showing me, and I promised Hermione I’d take care of it! If I don’t get through all of it today, she’ll be furious with me. There may not even be a wedding. Can you just come through?” He looked vaguely ill, freckles standing out starkly against his pale face.  
  
“Okay, okay. Give me a minute to get dressed then.” Harry rubbed his eyes and willed them to focus as he stumbled to his chest to pull out some clothes. _Hadn’t Ron laughed at him when he thought wedding planning was all ‘picking colors and centerpieces?’ Hypocrite_.  
  
“You’re leaving?” Draco asked, sitting up in bed with a scowl on his face. Then again, he always scowled in the morning. It was part of his charm.  
  
“Yeah, Ron sounds pretty overwhelmed with wedding stuff.” He pulled on some socks, losing his balance once or twice in his rush. “You’re visiting your parents today anyway, right?”  
  
Draco nodded, his eyes clouding.  
  
Harry finished dressing, then leaned across to give him a quick kiss. “It’ll be alright. I should be home when you get back.”  
  
Draco caught his chin and pulled him in for another kiss, this one longer and fueled by anxiety. With reluctance, Harry pulled away and headed to the Floo.  
  
On the other side, Ron nearly fainted with relief when Harry stepped out of the fireplace and into the wedding shop in Diagon Alley.  
  
“Oh, thank Merlin!”  
  
Despite the early hour, he couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s going on? You make Hermione sound like some sort of bridezilla - that doesn’t sound like her at all!”  
  
Ron grimaced, looking faintly green. “It’s not about the _wedding_, mate. It’s about my ‘_organization skills_,’ she says. Thinks it’s an opportunity for me to ‘step up and take some responsibility.’ Can you believe that? As if I don’t have responsibilities at work fighting criminals!”  
  
Harry just made a noncommittal noise.  
  
“It’s just…there’s so many details. So many little choices you have to make. I don’t know how Hermione does it all the time!”  
  
Harry glanced at his friend. “Uhh…I think that’s the point?”  
  
“Hmm?” Ron looked past him distractedly. He came to a stop next to a table with different linens and silverware atop it. “Oh, here’s the tablecloths I was talking about. Which color is best?”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. He was subsequently roped into three hours of tedious decision-making that would undoubtedly showcase more of _his_ tastes than Ron’s ability to get things done. Hermione would surely notice, but after dating Ron for three years, she honestly should have known better than to heap such pressure on him and _not_ expect him to cave and call for backup.  
  
They were comparing the last set of self-freshening bouquets when Harry thought of something. “Hang on, I’m surprised your mum didn’t want to do all this for you. It’s still going to be at the Burrow, isn’t it?”  
  
Ron, who was enmeshed in a staring contest with a daffodil, glanced up with surprise. “Oh, Mum? Yeah, she’s helping out in other ways. Since we’re getting married at the house, she’s taking care of all the cooking and cleaning and hosting whoever wants to stay over and stuff. Hermione assigned me the rest of the preparations to take some of the load off her.”  
  
“What kind of food is she making?” As he asked, a wave of sorrow washed over him. It had been so long now since he’d had Molly’s cooking – and up until a few months ago, he’d been having it every day while he lived there. The realization filled him with a hollowness that his life at Hogwarts couldn’t quite heal.  
  
“Oh, you know – the usual. Some mince pies, roasted potatoes, a bunch of loaves of different breads, pasties, treacle tarts…” Ron trailed off, his eyes aglow.  
  
Harry cleared his throat.  
  
Ron’s gaze snapped back into focus. “And a big cake, of course! Can’t forget the wedding cake.”  
  
“Sounds like a sizable spread,” Harry commented as Ron ushered him out of the shop. It seemed they were finally done, and the goods they chose would be summoned to the Burrow magically on New Year’s Eve.  
  
“Mhmm. Yeah, it’ll be great - no one can beat Mum’s cooking.”  
  
They stopped into The Leaky Cauldron for a butterbeer to celebrate their (rather scant) accomplishments. Once seated, Ron asked, “So how are my stag night plans coming?”  
  
Harry choked on his first sip. _His_ what?  
  
Ron smiled knowingly. “I know you’re not supposed to say. But I’m hoping there’s at least _one_ strip-Quidditch game involved.”  
  
Harry fumbled with his napkin, trying to mop up the drink he sloshed on his shirt and come up with a quick lie. _Were stag nights something people did?_ Of course, he knew _some_ people did them, but were they always organized by the best man? He supposed they usually were - now that he thought about it - but never having been in a wedding, it hadn’t even crossed his mind when Ron had asked him. He was in deep shit.  
  
“I’m, er, still working on that one. But we’ll, uh…see what happens.”  
  
Ron laughed. “So secretive! Okay, okay. I won’t ask anything else.”  
  
Harry looked up at him, attempting to keep the panic off his face. “Err, though for the record, who all is in your wedding party?” At Ron’s confused look, he rushed to continue. “I mean, the event planning is in place, but I wanted to get a concrete list from you of who you want me to invite.”  
  
Ron took a swig of his butterbeer and smiled. “Oh, you know – the old Gryffindor gang is fine. You, Neville, Dean and Seamus - if they’re around. I’d say Savage, but he’s too old to party like that anymore.”  
  
Well that was something at least. He wouldn’t be forced to invite Ron’s Auror partner to whatever event he’d whip up.  
  
“Good. Sounds good,” he managed. “Right…”  
  
Ron smiled, blissfully unaware, and downed more of his drink.  
  
“And your brothers…?” Harry tried.  
  
“Definitely not.”  
  
“Right.” Harry nodded as if he had just been confirming rather than asking. “That’d be weird.”  
  
“So weird. Especially if someone ends up naked.”  
  
Ron really seemed to _want_ people to end up naked at his stag party. Fuck, Harry had a lot of planning to do.  
  
The end of the year was suddenly far too close for his liking, and Harry had no choice but to weather the rocky road ahead of him. And even though he’d just finished powering through his teaching work, he resigned himself to forgo any semblance of rest until the holidays came to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo. If you haven't read my boyfriend's parody of chapter 26, you should totally check that out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588300)! He lives for any comments or feedback people are kind enough to bestow.  
Also, I received a fun fanart by [2Cute2BeCis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Cute2BeCis/)!! It was based on a comment they made about Harry being a silly goose, which then threw me into a vision of goose-Harry and swan-Draco flapping about, as is illustrated [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658497):)
> 
> Hope everyone had a good Valentine's Day and consumed massive amounts of chocolate!
> 
> xoxo


	28. Spectacular, Tentacular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: references to abusive past (with the Dursleys); romantic rejections

Draco didn’t come home until late that night. Once Harry had gotten back, he had dived into his work, thinking he would only have a small window of productivity time before Draco returned. However, as the afternoon hours lengthened into evening, and Harry graded the last of his stack of papers, he realized that it had actually gotten quite late.  
  
He stabbed his quill into the inkwell for the night with finality and stood, knees creaking from the cold. He wandered over to the fireplace and searched for any sputter of green in its hearth, but found none.  
  
_Was Draco alright? Had Lucius said something horrible to him?  
  
Had he changed his mind about Harry?_  
  
He shook his head to clear it. That type of worrying would get him nowhere.  
  
Harry busied his hands setting the kettle on to boil – the Muggle way, which always felt more comforting. As a kid, the Dursleys hadn’t allowed him much food, but tea had been the one thing they never begrudged him - likely because they then didn’t need to make it themselves. It had become a habit of his, somewhere along the way, to boil some water for tea after especially turbulent moments.  
  
Small comforts. They’d been all he was allowed.  
  
When the kettle began to whistle, the fireplace whooshed behind him, and he turned to see Draco stepping from the flames.  
  
“Draco! How’d it go? I was starting to worry.”  
  
Draco glanced up at him, weariness etching his face. His jaw was set in a scowl that looked several hours old. “Harry. Hello.”  
  
“Are you alright? Do you want some tea?” Harry saluted with the kettle, grimacing as some boiling water sloshed onto the counter.  
  
Draco smiled faintly. “Yes. Tea would be lovely.” He came in and slumped onto the sofa, running his hands over his face several times before accepting the proffered cup.  
  
Harry summoned another cup with the flick of his wrist, and he saw Draco raise his eyebrows at the wandless magic. He only allowed himself to grin once his back was turned to pour – it wouldn’t do to be _arrogant_.  
  
When he took his seat on the couch, Draco heaved a long sigh before speaking. “It seems that I will be spending Christmas holidays at the Manor.” He said the words stiffly, like he’d fought against them in a significant battle.  
  
Harry’s fidgeting hands stilled on his cup. “Oh.”  
  
Draco glanced up at him through the corner of his eye. “They forced my hand a bit, what with my father and all. I’d really rather not.”  
  
Harry tried to stem the disappointment coursing through his veins. It wasn’t like they’d _talked_ about spending it together – Harry had just assumed that they’d both be at Hogwarts this year. It was silly. They didn’t _need_ to spend Christmas together to prove their relationship’s sincerity or anything. Draco’s father was sick, and even if he was a git, it didn’t change the fact that it might be one of Draco’s last Christmases with him.  
  
This wasn’t about _Harry_.  
  
There was no point in getting upset.  
  
He found himself nodding, a little too emphatically. “Right. I mean, I didn’t think you’d have volunteered or anything. But yeah. That sucks.”  
  
Draco’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Yes, well, like I said, it’s a bit beyond my control.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“And I really don’t want to-”  
  
“I understand. It’s fine, Draco.”  
  
At that, Draco bit off whatever else he was going to say and pressed his lips in a thin line. He took a carefully controlled sip of tea before continuing. “Right. Well, other than that fun conclusion, I endured a dinner of all my least favorite dishes – the menu hand-picked by my father, of course – and a positively dreadful chat in the study over after-dinner drinks about my future prospects. _Apparently_, after having disinherited me for over a year, my father still has the gall to fret over my financial and social decisions.”  
  
His tone was acid, and Harry couldn’t help but flinch at the sharp clack of Draco setting his empty cup down on the table.  
  
“Why? Does he plan to reinstate you in the will?”  
  
Draco huffed a dry laugh. “Of course not. But he knows that _Mother_ will once he’s gone.”  
  
“Is he…doing worse?” Harry tried to word it gently.  
  
Draco glanced up to meet his eyes. “The same. No, this is all just his usual ‘planning ahead.’”  
  
Harry brushed some blonde strands from Draco’s eyes, and he leaned his cheek into the touch. Eyes closed, he asked Harry, “How was your day? With the wedding preparations.”  
  
“It was fine.” He swallowed, tracing the edge of Draco’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I have no idea what to plan for Ron’s stag night though.”  
  
Draco’s eyes flew open. “You haven’t done any of that yet?”  
  
Harry could feel his cheeks heating up. “You _knew?_ I had no idea that was something I was in charge of!”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes with snort. “Of course you didn’t. It’s only the universal expectation for the best man at any wedding.” Harry smacked his face lightly, and Draco laughed, grabbing his hand. “What? You know I’m right.”  
  
“I _know_ you’re a twat.”  
  
Draco’s lip quirked up at that, and he drew Harry’s hand to his lips, ghosting a kiss over his knuckles. Harry’s insides melted.  
  
“So what are you planning for the stag night?” he continued.  
  
“Huh? Um, honestly no clue. Ron seems to want something scandalous and exciting.”  
  
Draco grinned. “Oh yeah? Can Weasley even _handle_ ‘scandalous and exciting?’”  
  
Harry furrowed his brow. “The better questions is: can I even _make_ an event that is both of those things?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Draco said immediately.  
  
Harry glared at him.  
  
Draco smirked. “Not without my help, that is. Lucky for you, you’re dating the best event planner this side of Wizarding Europe.”  
  
“Oh, spare me,” Harry said. But on the inside, an acute relief began to unfurl. 

  


By the end of that week, Harry was ready to toss himself into the Black Lake and have the giant squid take his place as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His hand was so strained from writing tests and essay corrections that he had gone down to Madam Pomfrey on three separate occasions for a healing spell. He had been too embarrassed to go down a fourth time, and as such, had even accepted a strange herbal wrap that Neville had offered him to soothe the pain.  
  
But finally, _finally_, he had reached the last day of the term – and with a victorious swipe of his quill, he marked the last paper and floated it to the bin of completed grades. He sank back in his chair, wondering if he was really done, or if this was all some cruel cosmic trick and he’d forgotten something major.  
  
_Crack_.  
  
He heard the fire snapping in its grate and turned around to see Hermione’s face peeking out of the embers. “Harry, you there?”  
  
“I’m here, Hermione. What’s going on?” He moved into the armchair next to the fire.  
  
“Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to see how you were coming along – Draco told me you’d banished him several hours ago.”  
  
Harry frowned. “Did he? Well, did he also tell you he was being an insufferable prat while I was trying to finish my work? Which I just did, no thanks to him.”  
  
Hermione laughed. “No. But while he didn’t _say_ it, I could make a simple inference. Anyway, you’re done now? Congratulations!”  
  
He smiled. “Yeah, but it wasn’t easy. Remind me again why I signed up for teaching? You’d do a much better job of it.”  
  
Hermione smiled back. “No, I really don’t think I would. You’re doing great – everyone’s been telling me so.” He fidgeted with his collar, and she glanced at his hand. “What’s that?”  
  
“Oh, this?” He raised his cloth-wrapped hand with a shy chuckle. “Herbal wrap. Neville gave it to me for the hand strain I’ve been having.”  
  
“Oh! Is it the one with enchanted lavender leaves? I’ve used that one before, it really does work.”  
  
“Err, yeah. That one.” _He should’ve just gone to Hermione from the beginning. She probably had oodles of tips from her student days_. “Anyway, how are wedding plans on your end? Ron seems a little…overwhelmed.”  
  
She raised a brow in amusement. “Just a little? Oh come off it, Harry. I know you helped him pick things out last weekend. In what world would Ron have selected ‘opal sky’ colored tablecloths when ‘buttercream cake’ was an available option?”  
  
Harry grinned. “Fair enough.”  
  
She opened her mouth, then hesitated for a moment. “How are…stag night plans coming? I know Ron’s excited, and he was telling me how secretive you’re being…” She trailed off, then eyed him carefully before bursting out with, “but that just made me worry that you hadn’t started planning yet and were trying to distract him-”  
  
“I’ve started,” he interrupted with flushed cheeks. “I mean it would’ve been nice for you to clue me in on the whole thing, but now that I’ve realized it, Draco’s been helping me plan.”  
  
“Oh, good,” she said, visibly melting with relief. “As long as Draco’s helping, I’m not worried.”  
  
He pursed his lips. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”  
  
“Nothing! Nothing. Honestly, Harry, I know you’ll do a great job. I’m just making sure everything gets done.” She glanced away for a moment. “Oh, and speaking of, I have an appointment soon with the dress shop. I’ll talk to you later! And if you want to find Draco, he’s down in the Potions lab – he firecalled me to discuss his potion earlier.”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry said. “Good luck with the dress.”  
  
Hermione’s face vanished from the grate, and he pushed himself to his feet. With luck, he’d be able to catch Draco still down in the labs before he went to get ready for the last Quidditch game before break. After all, he’d finally gotten his work done, and he figured that, if nothing else, deserved some celebration. 

  


“Look who comes crawling back as soon as _his_ schedule frees up,” Draco drawled from across the room. He was hunched over a cauldron, the lamps casting eerie green light across his face as he worked. “Turns out that this time, _I’m_ the one who’s busy, so shoo!”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and fell into a seat at one of the lab tables. “Alright, _Professor_. I’ll kindly wait here for you to finish then.”  
  
Draco’s head snapped up, and he looked at Harry over his shoulder, contemplatively. He smirked. “Fine.”  
  
“You’re going to keep me waiting for a long time, aren’t you?”  
  
Draco turned back to his potion, flourishing a vial with that same smug expression. “Who can say?”  
  
Harry crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. He could wait him out. Now, it was a battle of wits, and Harry would die rather than fold.  
  
Draco kept him waiting two hours.  
  
Harry was starting to rethink his previous position on forfeiting when he heard a soft “Ah” from across the room. When he looked up, Draco was smiling over his cauldron in that electric, delighted way that washed away Harry’s irritation in an instant.  
  
“What is it? Did it work?”  
  
Draco turned to him with surprise, as if he had forgotten Harry was still there. “What? Oh, possibly. The magic signature turned out as I predicted, and the coloration looks right. This _could_ be it, but…”  
  
“But what? Test it.”  
  
Draco shook his head distractedly, then turned to face Harry. “With you here? Hardly. Did you _forget_ what happened last time?”  
  
Harry swallowed his embarrassment at the memory, caught up in Draco’s excitement. “Who cares? Just give it a go!”  
  
Draco hesitated. “I’ll…try it after the game,” he said eventually. “I don’t want anything in my system during Quidditch, in case there are adverse effects.”  
  
Harry frowned, but only because that did make perfect sense after all.  
  
“Fine, but you have to tell me right away if you cracked it.”  
  
Draco smiled. “Don’t worry – you’ll be the first to know.” He corked the potion with a wry look crossing his face. “Harry Potter, the wizard _least_ interested in potion advancements, will be the first to know about my monumental achievements.”  
  
Harry stood, catching Draco’s waist as he tried to walk by. He pulled him in close, settling his chin on Draco’s shoulder. “Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy’s _boyfriend_ – who waited patiently for him to finish his potions experiments, no less – will be the first to know. As is his right.”  
  
Draco snorted and tried to move away, but Harry pressed a kiss to the spot below his ear that sent a shiver down Draco’s body.  
  
He pushed Harry off gently. “Okay, okay. I get it. But I need to get ready for the game.”  
  
Harry let his head fall back with a groan. “Ugh, _fine_. I never thought I’d say this – or even _think_ it – but _fuck_ Quidditch.”  
  
Draco laughed, grey eyes sparkling as they left the dungeons behind and headed for the green. 

  


Today’s match was Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, so Harry didn’t have a huge stake in the outcome. Nonetheless, he clambered up the stands to sit with the Gryffindors, where he found Neville decked out in yellow and sitting next to his Hufflepuff wife.  
  
“Hannah? I didn’t know you were into Quidditch.”  
  
She turned to him with a fierce expression. “_Everyone’s_ into Quidditch,” she replied solemnly, then turned back to watch her team circle the field and warm up.  
  
Neville gave Harry an amused look and gestured to the open seat next to him. “Harry! How’s your wrist holding up?”  
  
Harry held up his wrapped arm. “Surprisingly good, actually. Thanks again for the…er, herbs.”  
  
He smiled. “Some students helped me pick those. I have a pretty good crew in my classes this year, which makes it easier. No one’s been aggravating the tentacula plants on purpose, which is a win.”  
  
Harry laughed, remembering his own time spent in Herbology – in which he _definitely_ aggravated the tentaculas on several occasions. In fact, he was pretty sure he had even put a small pot of tentacula on Draco’s seat one time. Needless to say, Professor Sprout had not been pleased.  
  
“You all done your grading yet?”  
  
Neville raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I was done yesterday, actually. Had all the classes do a practical exam where they repotted a certain type of plant they’d been studying. It’s much easier that way, because it’s all determined right in class!”  
  
Harry stared stupidly at him for several moments. _Why hadn’t he thought of that?_  
  
“B-but didn’t you want to test their overall progress? Instead of just gauging one task?”  
  
Neville sighed, amused. “I suppose that’s one approach. But I feel like even if you find out that the whole class is failing one particular section, it’s not like you can do anything about it until after break. And that’s another thing – it’s right before break. Students are less focused on your class than what flavor of micepop they’re giving their friends for Christmas. No one’s doing their best at this point.”  
  
Inwardly, Harry cursed Neville for his perfect logic – and himself for not considering all this earlier. “You’re right,” he grumbled. “Next time…”  
  
Neville glanced up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, mate – don’t get down about it! We all make mistakes our first year of teaching. I made loads of horrible blunders my first year that I can only pray no one will remember in a few years!”  
  
Looking at how put-together Neville was now, Harry almost doubted it, until he remembered how prone to clumsiness the man used to be. He forced a weak laugh. “Right. I’m sure they’ve already forgotten whatever it was.”  
  
Neville laughed. “Don’t be so sure! There was this one time that I dropped an entire bucket full of mandrakes across the greenhouse during class. They hadn’t even been the focus of the lesson, so no one had earmuffs or anything. The only saving grace was that they were still babies, so the screams just made several students pass out, and the ones who didn’t glared at me accusingly until I almost _wished_ they were lethal so I didn’t have to endure the shame.”  
  
Harry drew back in shock. The mere thought was enough to make him cringe. “I-…I’m sorry, Neville. That’s really unfortunate-”  
  
“And then another time,” Neville went on, undeterred, “I brought a new plant to class that I _thought_ was a Wiggentree, but it turned out to be _somnulus quercus_ that put everyone in the room to sleep as it released its spores. It wasn’t until the next day that McGonagall came and found us like that… And, I mean, you can imagine her face.”  
  
He could, and it was devastating. “That’s…really bad. Again, I’m sorry.”  
  
“And then, several weeks later…” Neville _continued_ to regale Harry with his deepest teaching regrets that left him feeling both horribly embarrassed on Neville’s behalf and quite like he’d been overreacting to his own.  
  
It was only when he heard a sharp whistle blow from nearby that he remembered to look up at the game – and specifically, Draco. The blonde was calling a play, but also sending a scowl in Harry’s direction, presumably for not watching. _Drama queen_.  
  
Then Harry remembered what Draco had whispered to him last time they had sex about the way Harry watched him fly. He felt his face heating up at the memory, and decided that this time he would _actually_ pay attention to what Neville was saying and not just moon over his boyfriend like Draco accused him of. Though that was probably the opposite of what git had been wanting, for sure.  
  
Just as he looked back over at his friend, Neville said, “Er, mate? Looks like someone wants to talk with you.”  
  
For a dazed moment, he thought _But Draco’s on the field…he_ can’t _talk right now_.  
  
Then, he turned to see what Neville was looking at and found Sam hovering in the stands to his side. His face seemed to be working through a stampede of emotions, and red streaks lined the corners of his eyes like he’d been crying.  
  
All the silly, romantic thoughts flew from Harry’s mind. “Sam? Are you alright?”  
  
“Can we talk for a minute? Just…” He gestured helplessly to the crowded seats, and Harry took the hint.  
  
“Sure. Of course. Let’s go somewhere quieter.” He stood, leading Sam down the stands and behind the scaffolding where things were calmer, and no milling students or staff were in sight. “What happened?” he asked once they were on the ground.  
  
Sam sniffled audibly and ran an angry palm over his cheeks. “I…I told Antoni. That I like him.” He paused, jaw pulsating slightly. He let out a shaky breath. “He doesn’t feel the same.”  
  
Harry’s chest squeezed at the pain in Sam’s voice. “How did it happen?” he asked softly.  
  
Sam looked the other way, giving up on hiding the tears streaming down his cheeks. “I…After you told me to give it a try, we’ve been hanging out more. I mean, we would always talk in class and play games in the common room and stuff, but I had asked him out to Hogsmeade several times, and we went and had a really good time together. So I thought that meant…I mean, I got my _hopes up_, that it meant he might possibly like me back. At least a little.  
  
“But then, tonight, we were watching the game, and I finally got up my courage to tell him I like him. And at first, he didn’t get it, and was like ‘I like you too,’ which just got my hopes up even more, but then he was like, ‘As friends, right? That’s what we’re talking about? Because you’re my mate, but I’m not…you know.’”  
  
“And that’s when you left?” Harry asked, already suspecting that it wasn’t.  
  
“No. That’s when I kind of lost it.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut, clearly regretting whatever came next. “I was like, ‘Gay? Is that what you mean? Well, _I_ am, so fuck you!’ And at that point, I was kind of shouting, because it hurt that he wouldn’t even _say it_. And I know he didn’t mean it that way, but it just sucks.” He looked at Harry, eyes big and sad. “This all just sucks.”  
  
Harry nodded. Then, he cleared his throat – which was suddenly thick with emotion – and just said, “Yeah. You’re right. It does suck.”  
  
He couldn’t even imagine what Sam must be going through – to have suddenly realized all this about himself, and then to have his first act of claiming that part of himself get shot down. And what was worse was that he couldn’t even blame Antoni – if the kid wasn’t gay or wasn’t interested, it wasn’t his fault either. It just sucked.  
  
Harry thought about what would have happened to _him_ if he’d gone through the past few months of unbearable tension between him and Draco and found out in the end that he wasn’t interested. It probably would have killed him. He would have been so ashamed, he would have buried these emotions deep down where all his issues swarmed beneath the surface.  
  
He didn’t want Sam to go through that.  
  
“It’ll be okay,” he murmured, not really believing it himself. “Hey, look at me. It sucks now – that much is true, but it won’t always. There’ll be more people out there in the future, even if it’s hard to imagine. You’ll find someone else.”  
  
Sam looked at him distrustingly. “You don’t know that. You said _this_ would go okay, and clearly it didn’t. Who’s to say the next time will go any better?”  
  
Harry’s heart slammed in his chest, and guilt flooded his mind. He _had_ been the one to urge Sam to take action. Had he given bad advice? No, in the end, it was probably better if Sam figured Antoni’s feelings out now rather than after several years of pining. But it still must have been a slap in the face.  
  
“I can’t promise it, unfortunately,” he said at last. “But I can say that even if the next time doesn’t go well, maybe the _following_ time will work. And if not then, then the next. But if you just give up here, then you’ll give up the very _possibility_ of finding happiness with someone.” He leaned against the scaffolding, crossing his arms and trying to hold himself together. “Sometimes, love sucks. But I think it’s worth it, in the end.”  
  
Sam glared at him several seconds more before sighing and slumping against the beams next to Harry. He cried some more, letting the tears roll freely down his face before eventually wiping them away. When his breathing had calmed, he asked, “Is it worth it for _me_ though?”  
  
Harry reached over and ruffled his hair, suddenly remembering with such clarity how it felt to be fourteen. He smiled. “I certainly hope so. But ultimately, that’s your decision to make.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks.  
I don't really have any exciting news this week, so I just hope that everyone is having a rad week. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	29. A Lesson in Fairness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: discussion of homophobia/biphobia, rejection

“So the boy rejected him?”  
  
Harry sighed and slumped into a seat by the fire. “Yeah. Said he wasn’t ‘that way’ or whatever.”  
  
Draco poured out some firewhisky and handed a glass to Harry. With the semester officially over, they could actually hang out in Draco’s room tonight, which felt a bit unfamiliar after so many nights in the Gryffindor wing. Harry’s room was a little bigger, but Draco’s had a bit more elegance, and, of course, a better selection of drinks.  
  
“That’s rotten luck.”  
  
“Yeah.” Harry took a gulp from his glass, wincing at the way it burned. Merlin, it had been so long since he’d had any alcohol – such was the life of a teacher, he supposed. At the Weasley’s, he had often drunk himself into a stupor just to get through the day.  
  
“I just wish there was something more I could do for him. There’s only so many times I can say ‘it gets better’ – what if it _doesn’t_ get any better? The world sucks sometimes, and I don’t want to lie to him.”  
  
Draco held up a graceful hand. “Harry, it’s fine. There’s nothing else you _can_ do. He’ll learn the rest as he goes.” He swirled his glass calmly and took a long sip. “It’s unfortunate, but you can’t save his relationships for him and be the hero. Not this time.”  
  
Harry bristled. “I’m not trying to be a hero. I just don’t want him to suffer for feeling different.”  
  
“You can’t keep people from suffering, let alone a _teenager_. If you try, you’re just serving your own ego.”  
  
“That’s not true!” Harry took another angry sip, thoughts racing. “There’s got to be a way I can help show him he’ll find someone else.”  
  
Draco sprawled across the chaise longue. “Oh. Lovely. Now you’re playing _matchmaker_ with _students!_ It’s not like that’s an ethical grey space or anything.”  
  
“Shut up! I’m thinking.”  
  
“Harry, you’re not seriously considering-”  
  
“Well, I need to do _something_, don’t I?” he snapped. Harry set his drink down on the table and rubbed at his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell.”  
  
Draco hadn’t lost his poise, yet he sat very still for several moments, as if waiting for Harry to explode again. At last, he spoke, softly and deliberately. “What precisely is bothering you about this? Why do you feel so compelled to change it?”  
  
Harry looked up at him and sighed again, heavily this time. “It’s just… I can’t even imagine it, you know? Like he’s realizing all this at age _fourteen_, when most everyone is still figuring out their _personalities_ and basic interests, let alone attraction. And on top of fourteen being a monumentally awkward age for romance in general, he’s now going at it from a perspective that most people don’t understand - let alone accept – and trying to both pursue his crush and stay afloat socially. It’s too much. It’s too much for _anyone_.”  
  
Harry picked up his drink again and fidgeted. Draco waited.  
  
“And…and it’s not _fair_. Take me, for example…” He glanced at Draco.  
  
The blonde nodded. “Alright.”  
  
“I only started figuring all this out this year, at age twenty. Now, I certainly don’t claim to have my shit together, but at least I have a bit more life experience and a basic grasp of _who I am_ that isn’t as easily influenced by schoolmates or whoever else comes along. I don’t live in a boys’ dorm where privacy is scarce and secrets scarcer - let alone someplace I have to change in front of a bunch of my friends who are suddenly scared that I’m leering at them because they know I like blokes! And heaven forbid you actually _do_ like one of them, and they don’t feel the same way, but then they also feel like you’ve betrayed their trust by holding anything other than the purest of intentions.”  
  
Harry was on a roll now, and he stood so he could work his energy out through pacing.  
  
“So that’s Sam’s reality. If we go back to _my_ example, however, _I_ never had to deal with any of that pressure, because I was out of school when I discovered all this. Furthermore, you and I didn’t share a dorm – we weren’t even friends. All of our relationship takes place after we’d grown up as people, and the flirting came from a place of mutual interest. Which is another thing Sam didn’t get to have.  
  
“Imagine building up what you think is a romantic tension over months and months, and then you realize it was all one-sided. It’s like if everything happened with us up until the Halloween Ball, and then you asked me to dance, and I was like ‘no, what are you talking about?’ That would hurt, wouldn’t it?”  
  
Draco’s eyes followed him back and forth as he patrolled the room, grey and fathomless. “Yes.”  
  
“Yes – exactly. And then you’d feel both horrible disappointment that your wish wouldn’t, _couldn’t_, come true, but also the crushing guilt of feeling like you’d misinterpreted and forced these feelings onto that person you’d come to care about. And then you couldn’t even just enjoy remembering the moments you spent together that got you excited, because your perception of them is forever changed by the fact that they didn’t feel the same way.”  
  
Harry stopped walking quite suddenly. “It’s just…it’s not fair.”  
  
Draco watched him a moment more, his head tilting. “So…you feel guilty that Sam has to go through this when you don’t?”  
  
Harry fell back onto the couch. “I…suppose. Yeah. Yeah, I feel guilty.”  
  
“And you’re trying to alleviate that guilt by doing some productive for Sam that would make things easier and even out your experiences a bit.”  
  
“Are you…reading my mind?”  
  
“No,” Draco said. Then, a beat of confused silence. “Do you want me to?”  
  
“No!” Harry felt blood rush to his face. _So Draco was a Legilimens after all_. “No, thank you. Not today, at least.”  
  
Draco smiled slightly. “Okay. But that _is_ what you’re feeling, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess.” He threw an arm over his forehead and sank further back into the couch. “It sounds silly, I know – wanting to do something to make up for a situation that can’t be changed. I just…don’t laugh - but with you, it all seemed so _easy_.”  
  
Draco, who had made no such promise, barked out a laugh. “_Easy?_ Really, Potter?” He took a swig of his drink, then gestured between them. “This…‘_tryst_’ is many things – and _easy_ is not on the list.”  
  
Harry’s face was burning from its hiding place beneath his arm. “I mean, not _easy_, but like, natural? That sounds even dumber, I’m sorry. I just mean that you and I have always had a lot of…”  
  
“Chemistry?”  
  
“Aggression,” Harry said with a glare. Draco’s grin was sweetly infuriating. “So we were always a little ridiculous when we came together – you would drive me into grandiose fights that I wouldn’t otherwise pick, and I would make you throw dramatic temper tantrums when you lost.”  
  
Here, Draco scowled and shot back the rest of his drink. “I never lose,” he claimed, clacking his glass down onto the table.  
  
“Regardless, whether we’re hexing each other or,” Harry blinked, “well, still hexing each other but snogging after – it’s not like it came as a total surprise to anyone. We just sort of fell into this relationship through shared momentum, and it just kind of _worked_. We didn’t spend all this time and effort trying to make it happen.”  
  
Draco crossed his arms and looked past him with a wry expression. “Speak for yourself,” he mumbled.  
  
“And-…wait, what?” Harry looked over at him through thoroughly smudged glasses. “What’s that mean? You reckon you’ve put in a lot of time and effort that I’ve somehow missed?”  
  
“You say that as if _missing things_ isn’t your specialty.” Draco’s eyes fell on him, seeming to strengthen his resolve. “Potter, there are _years_ worth of subtleties that have gone unnoticed on your end. So like I said, _speak for yourself_.”  
  
His eye contact was intense, and Harry suppressed a shudder than ran down his spine in response to that heated gaze.  
  
“Okay…” he started again, clearing his throat. “Well….well, regardless – I still feel bad about what Sam’s going through, so I hope I can find something to make it better for him. If that doesn’t offend your _practicality_ or whatever.”  
  
Draco broke his gaze with a sigh. “On the contrary, if you think of something, I’d like to help.”  
  
“You would?” Harry couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of his voice.  
  
“Of course. Just because I find your antics amusing doesn’t mean I don’t sympathize with his situation. I’d help if there’s something I could actively do.”  
  
Harry smiled and scooted closer to Draco. “You’re so difficult. I lo-…_like_ that about you.” He flushed.  
  
Draco slipped an arm over his shoulder and pulled Harry in to his side. Harry was sure the man could feel his heart thudding in his chest from the intimate gesture, but he thankfully didn’t mention it. After a moment or two, Draco broke the silence with a soft laugh.  
  
“What?”  
  
Draco glanced down at him, smirking. “It’s just…great lesson, by the way. It’s almost like you’re a teacher or something.”  
  
Harry headbutted his shoulder, but broke into a smile as well. “Shut up, Malfoy.” 

  


The next day, Harry decided to work up his courage and go visit Minerva. He’d been meaning to for a while now, and he wanted to catch her now in case she visited family or friends for the holiday. Now that he considered it, he realized he had never asked her if she _had_ any family – she had always been such an integral part of Hogwarts, that he couldn’t imagine her leaving even for Christmas.  
  
He repeated “Punctuality is key” to the door several times before he started feeling silly and realized she must have changed the password at some point in the past month. “Alright,” he mumbled, “what about ‘Listen to your elders’? ‘Don’t put off for tomorrow what you can do today’?...‘Procrastination is bad’?”  
  
“Try ‘Teaching brings wisdom,’” came a voice behind him. “But procrastination is indeed ‘_bad_,’ as you say.”  
  
Harry turned and saw Minerva approaching with a faint smile on her face.  
  
“Harry. To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
“Minerva.” He coughed into his fist and looked at the ground. “I was wondering if we could talk about…er, well, my relationship with Draco.”  
  
She pursed her lips, but at least did not roll her eyes like he was half-expecting her to. “Very well, why don’t we head to my office.” She stepped forward past the gryphon’s open wings, and Harry followed suit up the spiraling staircase.  
  
When they’d had a seat inside, she spoke again. “Now tell me, Harry. What else would you like to discuss about your relationship with Mister Malfoy?”  
  
Harry stared at her steepled hands in lieu of looking her in the eye. “I just…well, you see, it’s more of a hypothetical question, really. I mean, I was wondering…” he glanced up at her face, which seemed stern, but not unkind. “I was wondering how you would feel if we came out. To the Wizarding World. As…a couple.”  
  
Minerva’s brows had raised almost to her hairline. “Oh my, are you planning that imminently?”  
  
Harry’s panic flared. “I mean, I haven’t set anything in stone, but I wanted… I meant to ask your opinion on it. As we are both teachers here.”  
  
There was a moment of terrible silence.  
  
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t stop you,” Minerva said at last. “If you’re sure you’re ready for that kind of step. Though, I must say, you’ll have to expect an extraordinary amount of press about it.”  
  
Harry felt some of his tension deflate as he saw she wasn’t opposed. “Well, it’s not like I haven’t been dealing with the press recently as it is.”  
  
She shook her head slightly. “While that’s true, they have only rumors at this point. A lot of people are ignoring it, because they believe it’s just another false headline by the _Prophet_. If you ‘come out’ - as you say - you’ll have more than just reporters to deal with.”  
  
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. “Are you saying all this to dissuade me?”  
  
Minerva blinked several times, her face softening into sympathy. “No, you silly boy – I’m saying this because I’m _worried_ for you. If you’re taking this step, I want you to be prepared to face the consequences and rise above them.”  
  
His heart squeezed in his chest. “I…I think I can handle it. But that said, I still haven’t decided _when_. I mean, I still have to talk to Draco about it.”  
  
She flashed a quick smile, drawing back in her chair. “Of course.”  
  
“But I had one more question as well…” Harry studied the gyroscopes twirling in perpetual motion on the desk.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
He hesitated, parsing out how to phrase it best.  
  
“Erm, well, you know how Neville and Hannah share a room-”  
  
“They’re married,” she interrupted at once, amusement coloring her tone. “You can share a room when _you’re_ married.”  
  
“Right.” Harry’s face burned - and though he had never personally experienced it, it felt much like being chastised by his mum for sneaking out. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-”  
  
“Merlin, Harry, it’s fine! We’re both adults here. Just understand that I can’t go making exceptions to some of the school rules – even for you. It’s nothing personal. I just can’t have teachers running around the castle with each other willy-nilly.”  
  
“Right,” he said again, feeling foolish. “I just… I mean, even if we’re not sharing a room, er, _officially_, would it be okay if the students knew about us? If we explained our relationship to them, I mean? So it’s not so rumor-worthy.”  
  
Minerva sighed. “I mean the one corresponds with the other, you know. If you tell students, it’s bound to get out to the press; if you tell the press, the students will all know. So that’s rather inevitable, it seems.” She placed her palms on the desk and looked him in the eye. “My advice to you is this: make sure that _you’re_ happy with the timing of it, because there are always going to be people who aren’t.”  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
“And now that that’s settled,” Minerva picked up a cup of tea that Harry didn’t even realized she’d brought up with her, “what are your holiday plans, Harry? Anything fun?”  
  
Harry felt a sudden surge of guilt for pouring this all on her so early in the morning. “I-I’m…To be honest, not really.” He watched her take a sip of tea, then continued hesitantly. “I can’t go to the Weasley’s this year, because…well, you know why. So I’ve been planning to stay here. But I just heard that Draco is going to his family’s for the holiday, and I’d kind of been expecting to…well, to spend it together.”  
  
“You don’t want to go with him?”  
  
Harry’s head snapped up at the question. _Go with him? To the Manor?_ That option sounded so disastrous that he hadn’t even considered it. “I…I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be welcome,” he managed.  
  
“Did Mister Malfoy say that?”  
  
“Well…no. But he didn’t invite me either!”  
  
Minerva sighed yet again, this time with a wry look etching itself between the lines of her brow. “He might be too nervous to ask, given the way you just reacted.”  
  
“I…I-” Harry’s mouth gulped open and closed several times. At length, he burst out with, “I mean, can you imagine it though? Me sitting next to Lucius at a twenty-person table, chatting about the current political landscape? What would I be able to say? ‘Oh, I’m sorry sir, I know we disagree on humanitarian matters, but how _are_ you?’”  
  
“I’m not saying you have to do anything, I’m merely commenting that, given the current situation, he might not want to be alone.”  
  
Harry recoiled. _But he’s leaving_ me _alone, isn’t he?_  
  
“I…er, we’ll see.” He bit at his lip. “Erm, how about you? Any…plans?”  
  
Minerva stared at him a moment before her eyes crinkled with amusement. “While I appreciate the consideration, Harry, I don’t have anyone left to spend the holiday with outside of the school. I will remain here for the duration - as I did the entirety of your time at Hogwarts.”  
  
Harry flushed. “Right. Nice. Well, I’ll be here as well.”  
  
She raised a brow like she doubted it.  
  
“Alright then. Thanks for your help, Professor. I mean, ‘Minerva’! Old habits.” He stood and started towards the door.  
  
“Have a happy Christmas, Harry.”  
  
“Happy Christmas,” he managed.

  


_Was he being an idiot about Draco? Was Minerva right – did he actually want Harry to come along?_ It didn’t seem likely. Draco was always so private about his family; it took a lot of needling to get even the smallest bits of information out of him. Why would he want Harry to come along to a family holiday, when it would be colossally awkward for both of them? That much, Harry was sure he was right about – he had _nothing_ to say to Lucius, so even the thought of spending time at the Manor pretending he did was terrible.  
  
And he didn’t even know what to think about the marriage bit.  
  
Harry glanced over at Draco, who was sipping his firewhisky across the table from him. He looked distracted, and Harry followed his gaze around the bustling inside of The Three Broomsticks to find what was bothering him.  
  
“You alright?”  
  
Draco snapped his gaze back to Harry’s with a guilty look. “Fine. Why?”  
  
“You looked like you were in a daze.” Harry took a warming gulp of butterbeer. “We can go somewhere else if you’d like.”  
  
Draco shook his head, fingers toying with his glass. “It’s fine. I’m fine,” he said quickly. “What were you thinking about?”  
  
Harry took another sip to stall. “I…talked to Minerva this morning.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
He cleared his throat. “Er, about us, actually. Well, about the situation…I mean-”  
  
“And?” Draco prompted. “What exactly about this ‘situation’ did you discuss?” His tone was neutral, but there was a glint in his eye and his shoulders were tense.  
  
“I asked about…the possibility of what would happen if we were to, er, ‘come out,’ you might say.”  
  
Draco’s eyes widened. “Oh. Did you?”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“And she was against it?” Draco guessed.  
  
Harry looked up to meet his eyes. “Er, no! Not exactly.” He sighed. “She just impressed upon me the need for caution, given the press and all. She told me to consider the timing.”  
  
“And when did you decide?”  
  
Harry tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”  
  
“When do you want to tell people?”  
  
“I…er, well I wanted to discuss it with you first, obviously. So…?”  
  
“’So’ what?”  
  
“So are you okay with that? Do you even _want_ that, I mean?”  
  
Draco looked pissed, and Harry wondered whether this whole conversation was a mistake. He had misunderstood, he had assumed too much-  
  
“Potter. Let me make this clear – since it didn’t seem to sink in last time.” Draco leaned forward across the table, and his grey eyes were practically sparking.  
  
_Please don’t break up with me_, Harry willed.  
  
“I _want_ to be with you,” Draco enunciated.  
  
Harry blinked in surprise.  
  
After letting the words settle for a moment, he continued. “I _want_ to be with you. I have _sacrificed_ a lot to be with you. If you want to tell everyone you know about us, that’s fine. If you want to keep me as your sordid little secret, that’s fine. Whatever and _whomever_ you want to tell, it’s fine. You don’t have to keep asking me what I want, because I already have it.” He ended it with a fierce gaze that made Harry shiver.  
  
His heart thundered in his chest. The noise threatened to eclipse everything else.  
  
“I…I want to tell people,” Harry said at last. He felt his eyes misting and tried to blink it away. “You shouldn’t be a secret. That’s not what I want.”  
  
Draco grasped his hand from across the table. “Then _tell_ people.” He looked so hopeful, it broke Harry’s heart. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Wooh, Harry finally figuring out some of that good queer rhetoric to understand the world through. 
> 
> Hope you're having a good week, and thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	30. That Divisive Byline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: more homophobic news articles; references to past sex

“So, in retrospect, we probably shouldn’t have had that conversation in The Three Broomsticks.”  
Draco looked up from today’s copy of _The Daily Prophet_ with a raised brow. “Yes, I suppose not.” The headline screamed:

HARRY POTTER, THE BOY WHO **BETRAYED**, CONFESSES TO UNSAVORY TRYST WITH DEATH EATER 

“To be fair, I don’t think the tryst is all that ‘unsavory,’ given my outstanding manners and decorum, but to each reporter their own…”  
  
Harry snorted, but sank further into the armchair in anxiety. He hadn’t even made a public statement about anything yet, and already things were out of control. Did his timing really even matter? Minerva seemed to think that his deliberation would have an actual impact on proceedings, but he was disinclined to agree. He didn’t have nearly the diction or political sensibility to manipulate the press into reporting what he wanted.  
  
Harry sat up in his straight in chair.  
  
_He_ didn’t have those traits.  
  
But…  
  
“Draco? You know how I said you were much better at public speaking and dealing with reporters than me?” He glanced over at the blonde, whose brows had skyrocketed at the freely-bestowed compliment.  
  
“I do seem to recall, yes.”  
  
“Well, what if _you_ wrote my interview?” In the stunned silence, he hopped to his feet and began pacing. “It’s brilliant! If _you_ wrote the article, then you would be able to articulate all the things I’m trying to say, and I wouldn’t have to worry about being misquoted!”  
  
Draco blinked dazedly from his seat at the table. His hair was still mussed from sleep, and he had pillow marks on his face still – which would have usually been hilarious to Harry, had he been paying attention to anything but the idea blazing in his mind.  
  
“Harry, hold on-”  
  
“I know I wouldn’t get a fair article from the _Prophet_ normally, if they’re latching onto all this crap!” He gestured to the open paper. “And _The Quibbler_ has been okay at times, and I know Luna’s been working on it…but it just doesn’t have the same credibility unfortunately. I hate to say that – don’t tell her, please – but I feel that people would make a joke or conspiracy theory of anything I reported there.”  
  
“Harry, _wait_.” Draco threw up his hands, and Harry finally stopped and looked at him fully. His body language had gone from confused to panicked throughout the course of his discovery.  
  
“You’ll do it, won’t you?” he asked.  
  
Draco’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “I…Let’s talk about this. First of all, what makes you think I can even write something compelling enough to change anyone’s mind?”  
  
Harry laughed. “That's easy. You were already able to _say_ something compelling enough to change people’s minds in Honeyduke’s.”  
  
Draco began fidgeting with the paper and his mug of tea, looking trapped. “That was one time. And I haven’t seen any lasting change from it. Besides, people would never read the article to begin with if they saw it was from me!”  
  
Harry fell into the chair next to him. “No, that’s the thing – they _would!_ You haven’t made any public statements at all since the war, and now you’re suddenly in the news every other day! If you wrote an article about _me?_ People would eat it up.” He leaned forward eagerly across the table, clasping Draco’s retreating hands.  
  
“I don’t think… Harry, look. Even if the _public_ was eager to read it for the novelty, there’s not a paper out there that would accept an article from me, unedited at least.” His lip quirked down, contemplative and sad.  
  
“_Draco_. They so would. I mean, if I tell them that’s the only way they’re getting my statement, they’ll have no choice.”  
  
Draco pulled his hands away, leaning back and crossing his arms in one smooth movement. “Merlin. And you’re going to march into _The Daily Prophet_ and make that demand?”  
  
Harry deflated slightly. “Well…I was hoping I could use your…err, persuasion talents for that bit.”  
  
Draco’s eyebrows flew even higher on his forehead. “Okay. Alright - even better. So, revised statement: you’re going to make _me_ march into _The Daily Prophet_ and demand that they publish my piece or ‘my father will hear about it’ or some shite?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.  
  
“Well, I’d obviously come too!” Harry protested.  
  
“Oh, Merlin forgive me! I’d forgotten that the great Harry Potter will be there to save my sorry arse. Order is restored to the world!”  
  
“Stop it. I’m serious – it can work. It _will_ work.”  
  
Draco pushed himself to his feet. “Harry, when are you going to learn that no one listens to a former Death Eater?”  
  
Harry was silent for a long moment, but met his eyes with a defiant gaze. When he spoke, it was quiet.  
  
“When are you going to learn that you’re more than just the sum of your past?”

  


They argued about it for the next couple of days. Draco, for all his normal cockiness, seemed terrified of being the one to make any official statement to the press. As long as it was other people saying things about you, he argued, you could agree or disagree based on the situation to your benefit. When the stark truth was out there, well, then you had an obligation to stand in the open and defend it.  
  
Harry understood all this. He could see why Draco was scared – though the man never used that specific word – and why it was something that needed to be given its due consideration. However, he still couldn’t lose the sense that this _was_ the best option. Draco could be very persuasive, if he put his mind to it. And they wanted the same things. Just, ultimately, like the Hat had sorted them all those years ago, they had very different ideas of how to get there.  
  
On the fifth day of their argument, Harry approached with a new tactic. “I want you to write a draft,” he stated boldly.  
  
Draco glanced up at him from his seat on the couch. “Are you opening this argument with the hopes that we’ll have angry sex against the wall again?”  
  
Harry schooled his face into a solemn expression. “No. I’m being serious.”  
  
Draco sagged, letting his head fall back in exasperation. “Ugh, I was afraid of that. Why? Why do you keep insisting I do this? Why can’t we just have wall sex?”  
  
Harry let a small grin curve upon his face. “Nothing’s wrong with wall sex, but I’d like to experience more than one of your skills.” He ran his eyes down Draco’s form approvingly. “You’ve very multitalented.”  
  
“I like to think I’m more talented with my hands than with a quill,” he remarked drily.  
  
“Draco.” Harry sat next to him, facing him squarely. “Please. It’s just a draft. We’re not sending anything out yet. I swear it.”  
  
Draco’s eyes narrowed, searching his for several long moments. He seemed like he was teetering on the edge of refusing and storming out, but at last, he cracked. Finally, he shrugged his shoulder with such vehemence, Harry was surprised he didn’t dislocate something.  
  
“_Fine_. I will write a _draft_. But you better bring me some tea and scones and lavish me with worldly comforts while I do. And if it’s terrible, I’m _not_ sending it.”  
  
Harry broke into a grin. “Deal!”  
  
He sped off to throw the kettle on and summoned a house elf to inquire about getting the scones. After providing Draco with these refreshments, he set up his desk with rolls of clean parchments and his best quill, ushering his boyfriend there with a flourish and making sure to pull out the chair for him.  
  
Draco endured all this with a sense of smug amusement until he realized that it wasn’t going to stop. Harry began settling blankets around him and massaging his shoulders and performing ink-wicking charms when his quill was running dry through intensive eye contact with Draco’s hand – at which point, he played into Harry’s trap and finally asked to be left the fuck alone to work.  
  
Harry, quite pleased with this development, ducked out of the room to give Draco some peace. He wandered towards the Great Hall and finally noticed how beautiful the castle looked with all its holiday lights and wreaths up. The past couple of weeks had been too busy for him to stop and appreciate the decorations, but they truly were magnificent.  
  
With a sudden pang, he remembered that he wouldn’t get to take part in the Weasley’s Christmas this year. Even through the haze and pain of the past few years, Christmas there had always been a bright spot. Molly would haul out the decorations early and have everyone pick a room to swaddle in garlands and _lumos_-spelled fairy lights and peppermint candles that flickered on when you entered. By the time the house was finished, everyone was tired yet cheerful, and settled down gratefully with their hot cocoa and languid carols.  
  
Harry scrunched up his eyes. And in addition to not being at the Burrow, he was also going to be _alone_. Sure, Minerva and a handful of students and staff would stay for the holidays, but despite that, he couldn’t shake the cold disappointment curling in his stomach.  
  
_Why couldn’t Draco just stay?_  
  
The worst part was that he knew he was being selfish. Draco had every right to spend Christmas with his family, given the situation. And Harry knew that it wasn’t a fun and pleasant thing for him either; it’s not like he was abandoning him _on purpose_. But between Molly’s distance and Draco’s plans, it felt rather like a punch in the gut.  
  
He glanced up at the dancing hippogriff ornaments and tried to shake off his lingering disillusionment. Christmas was only a day. He could do lots of fun things with Draco before he left. Besides, Harry was used to long stretches of isolation and miserable holidays – Merlin knew he’d spent enough of them with the Dursleys. He’d just gotten spoiled. He’d get through it this time just like he had before.

  


After a leisurely trip into Hogsmeade – in which he picked up some more Peppermint Toads for Draco – he returned to his room in the late afternoon, only to be shooed unsuccessfully by said boyfriend.  
  
“Go away, I’m just getting into the swing of things,” he mumbled, hunched over the parchment.  
  
Harry smiled at his back. “Keep going then, I’m not stopping you.”  
  
Draco turned with an affronted look on his face and a slight flush. “Yes, well, it feels weird writing about you when you’re in the room with me.”  
  
Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “You are writing my coming-out story, aren’t you? Not one of your Skeeter parody books?”  
  
Draco’s face turned even redder as he spluttered. “Of course not! I’m not an _idiot_.”  
  
Harry advanced. “What are you writing then?” He tried to peek over Draco’s shoulder, but the blonde covered his writing in a flash.  
  
“Hey! You don’t get to read it.”  
  
“What, until you’re done?”  
  
“Until it’s submitted.”  
  
Harry drew back with a laugh until he realized Draco was serious. “What? No way – you have to let me read it before we take it in.”  
  
Draco met his gaze defiantly. “No. You’ll read it along with everyone else when it gets printed. I’ve decided that’s my condition.”  
  
Harry froze.  
  
_This was ridiculous. What was the purpose even?_  
  
“But it’s about _me_,” he said slowly. “I want to know what’s going to be said about me to all of Wizarding Society before it’s out there.”  
  
“It’s also about _me_,” Draco pointed out. “And I wouldn’t write anything you wouldn’t want known.”  
  
“Yes, but-”  
  
“Then why? Why would you need to read it?” Draco’s gaze was fierce and yet fragile all at once.  
  
“I-” Harry stopped, it finally dawning on him. “Draco, you know that I already trust you completely. Why does that have to mean that I can’t read over what quotes of mine you use or what stories you tell?”  
  
Draco frowned, brow crinkling in hurt. “Why should you need to if you trust me? What does it matter about my punctuation or word choice, if you know I’ll say what you want me to say?”  
  
Harry opened his mouth, but came up with nothing.  
  
“Harry, I’m writing this _for you_.” Draco looked up at him beseechingly. “The least you can do is permit me the method of delivery.”  
  
He hesitated still.  
  
“Isn’t that what this is all about? Taking a leap of faith – but _together?_”  
  
And with a final, hesitant sigh, Harry murmured his assent.

  


Two days later, Draco finished his draft, but it took him three more days to edit it enough that he didn’t scowl at the parchment every time he looked at it. By nearly a week after Harry’s initial request, Draco sealed the final product into an envelope which he needlessly addressed to “The Daily Prophet” in spidery, elegant script, even though he was delivering it in person.  
  
“Are we going to bring it there today?” Harry asked - as he figured he wasn’t being pushy if the article was already signed and sealed.  
  
Draco looked up at him, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. He hadn’t taken the time to do his hair or press his clothes the past few days, engrossed as he was in his writing, and the resulting effect was both concerning and horribly attractive in that romanticized style of “wasting away in the 1800s.”  
  
“No,” he said with a faint smile. “We’ll go tomorrow.”  
  
Before Harry could question it, he continued.  
  
“I’ve just written what is undoubtedly the most important essay of my life – I’m going to take a little break before marching to the press and dueling some journalists over it. First off, I’m taking a bath.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry said, crossing his arms. “What else did you want to do then?”  
  
Draco slid to his feet, a lazy grin stretching across his face. “_Then_ I’m going to put on a fresh outfit and take my _boyfriend_ out to dinner. After which, we’re going to go see the lights in Diagon Alley, because knowing you, you’ve probably never even gone around Christmastime, you heathen.” He caught a glimpse of Harry’s goofy smile. “That all sound good to you?”  
  
“Brilliant,” Harry breathed. “Though, to be honest, the ‘you bathing’ part sounds the most immediately interesting, if I can just watch come in there and watch-”  
  
Draco snorted, drawing Harry in by the chin for a hungry kiss. He pulled away with a positively wicked look on his face. “Well, you can’t. If I let you ‘watch,’ we both know that the rest of the date will never happen.”  
  
Harry squawked in disappointment.  
  
“Don’t deny it. And any other day, I’d be fine with that – but tonight, I want to go out. Anyway, in the meantime, go pick out your least offensive outfit and get changed. Merlin knows it will take you a while.” He sauntered into the bathroom then, and Harry could feel the thrum of magic locking the door with several wards.  
  
_Such a Slytherin_.  
  
He sighed and trudged to his closet.

  


After nearly an hour of waiting (which, he noted, was far longer than it took him to find a “non-offensive” outfit), Draco emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and a handsome burgundy jumper over a collared shirt and dark trousers.  
  
Harry nearly swooned, then immediately began fidgeting with his hand-me-down sports jacket. It was one of Sirius’, and he loved it, but he felt a rush of self-consciousness about the fit, seeing Draco so delectably put-together and clearly knowledgeable about clothes.  
  
But Draco’s eyes ran up and down him approvingly, and he grinned at Harry’s blush. “So you _can_ clean up nice after all.”  
  
Harry cleared his throat and braved, “I thought you learned that at Halloween.”  
  
Draco grabbed his peacoat from the closet. “An outlier doesn’t count as evidence.”  
  
Harry threw his scarf on with a huff. “Oh, shut up.”  
  
“Though, that _was_ a lovely suit – let me guess, did you have Hermione help you pick it out?”  
  
“Shut _up_.”  
  
Draco fastened his coat buttons with a grin that spoke volumes despite his compliant silence.  
  
“And she didn’t _pick_ it, she helped me _transfigure_ it,” Harry muttered mutinously, because he just couldn’t help himself. 

  


Draco ended up taking him to a French restaurant just a few streets south of Diagon Alley, and while _nice_, it wasn’t the austere, pretentious environment he had feared Draco would prefer. As it was, the host ushered them back to a cozy table in the corner next to a Christmas tree that bathed them in warm, flickering light.  
  
He settled into his chair and watched Draco unwind his scarf from his neck and shed his peacoat before sliding into his seat, still flushed from the chill, yet soft and bright under the candles. Harry felt his chest expand with an affection he could barely contain. _How the hell had he gotten here?_ He was so, so lucky.  
  
He must have been making a dumb expression, because Draco glanced up at him and laughed lightly.  
  
“What is it? You look like you have something to say.”  
  
The words “_I love you_” rose in his throat, and he could barely stand to push them down this time. “Thank you for this,” he said instead.  
  
“What are you thanking me for?” he asked, incredulous. “If you’re this shaken at me taking you on a date, then perhaps I haven’t been properly courting you until now.”  
  
Harry laughed, though the tightness in his lungs was distracting him. It still drew a smile from Draco, who chatted quietly with him about anything and everything, about Quidditch and grading, about favorite dishes and long-gone childhood memories. And Harry marveled at how the man before him could be both so completely different from his past self, and yet so utterly the same.  
  
In a break in conversation, Draco caught Harry staring at his face, tracing the candlelight that danced across his cheekbones. This time, he didn’t even comment on it, just curled his lips into a knowing smile.  
  
He paid, even though Harry protested, reminding him that Minerva wouldn’t underpay him so much that he couldn’t afford a night out on occasion. And, check settled, they strolled into the cold bite of winter air, opting to walk, as they were only a few blocks from the lights Draco insisted he see.  
  
Harry’s hand glanced against Draco’s several times as they walked, and he fought an internal battle over whether or not to take it in his grip intentionally. _Would people see, if he did? Down the dark side streets, it was unlikely, but they were both rather high-profile at the best of times. Now would be the moment though, if he was going to do it - before they reached the heart of Diagon Alley_.  
  
He clenched his hand into a determined fist.  
  
_Besides – even if they saw, did it matter? He was planning to come out – not just to friends – but the entirety of the Wizarding World in a matter of days, so why couldn’t he just show courage in this one, small display?_  
  
He wanted to. After Draco’s monologue the other day, Harry wanted to do something to comfort him, to show him he wasn’t some “sordid little secret,” but an invisible pressure of unseen eyes and judgments weighted his body like cloak.  
  
His hands slid past his boyfriend’s again, and he _almost_ reached out.  
  
By the time he had convinced himself he was finally going to, Draco stopped. Harry looked up and realized they were at the threshold of the main street, where the quiet residences shifted to street lights and bustling noise.  
  
His opportunity had passed, and the realization brought with it both shame and relief.  
  
“Look, up ahead – you can see the top of the tree,” Draco said, ignorant of Harry’s inner turmoil.  
  
He looked past the buildings and did see a glittering chaos in the distance. “It looks fun,” he said earnestly.  
  
“Want to get closer? That’s where all the lights and vendors are – all the excitement, really – but you seem a little…tired?”  
  
Harry made eye contact, picking up the delicate inquiry. Draco’s eyes searched his with an intensity that made him shiver, despite his warm jacket. “I’m fine. Come on, let’s keep going.”  
  
The closer they got, the louder and brighter it became. And crowded too. A group of students rushed past then, bumping into Harry before retreating – one belatedly murmuring, “Was that-?” into the street.  
  
As promised, vendors began to appear on the sidewalk, selling anything from Everwarm Cider to live pixies trapped in assorted glass ornaments. A spiked hot chocolate caught his eye as the wind whistled through the buildings, and Draco had bought them each a mug of it before he could protest. But, as he sipped around the (frankly _ridiculous_) marshmallow dragons that dove and fluttered around his drink, he smiled quietly at the way he was being spoiled. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but he certainly wasn’t used to it either.  
  
They finally pushed their way to the heart of the alley, where everyone was crowded around a massive spruce that nearly towered over Gringotts. Harry found his gaze diverted by thousands of lights and ornaments swirling above his head, both attached to the tree and floating weightless through magic. Miniature fireworks burst in rapid succession, spelling things like “Yuletide” and “Noel” across the sky above their heads. Groups of carolers hovered nearby on broomsticks, so as not to get swept away by the sea of people below, and Harry saw one reach into his robe pocket and shower the masses with brightly wrapped candies.  
  
He took a deep breath, drawing it all in before turning to Draco. “Wow, you were right-”  
  
Draco, who was not looking at the lights at all, but was staring at him with a look that made his breath catch. It was so tender and bright and amused all at once, and Harry fought again to quell the words ballooning in his chest.  
  
“You always did like sweets,” Draco muttered, stepping forward to wipe some whipped cream from Harry’s nose. Even reflecting the fireworks, his eyes were deep and dark, and Harry found he couldn’t look away.  
  
  
  
“So did you,” Harry said, once he had regained enough of a breath.  
  
Draco tilted his head questioningly.  
  
“I saw you – you got a big box of them every holiday from your mum.” He looked away, reddening. “You got treacle tarts and everything.”  
  
He heard a soft laugh and caught Draco’s incredulous expression. “Ah, the treacle tarts…” Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “Merlin…I didn’t ask for those because I particularly liked them, you know.” He burst into another round of unexplained hilarity.  
  
Harry frowned. “Why’d you ask for them then?”  
  
In response, Draco smirked and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I liked watching you eat them.” Harry sucked in a surprised breath, and he continued. “Merlin, the faces you would make. Your eyes would roll back, and don’t even get me started on the way you licked that spoon _clean_. So yes, I asked for them. I would eat mine and try to imagine what you tasted.”  
  
Lust shot through him at the words, and Draco drew back, smirk widening as he saw Harry biting his lip with an obvious desire.  
  
“What’s wrong, Potter? Speechless at last?”  
  
Harry swallowed, watching Draco watch the line of his throat bob. _Merlin_.  
  
“We should get home,” he managed.  
  
Draco laughed outright, in his face. “Oh, should we now? Why, you want the elves to fetch you some _treacle tart_ perchance?”  
  
Harry stepped back, turning to lead them out of the busy square. “Actually, that’s not quite what I’m _hungry_ for,” he said with a laugh of his own, loving the several seconds of bewildered silence that followed.  
  
Then, Draco was at his side, outpacing him even on those long, graceful legs - cheeks a bit more flushed than the weather called for. “Fine, Potter,” he muttered over his shoulder. “When we get home, we’ll make sure you get whatever it is you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, they get to go on another date. It's been a while for these shut-ins.  
Again, I apologize if my illustration disrupts your mental image of the characters (that is one of my three reasons for not doing more of them - the others being TIME and the ridiculousness that is Draco's hair). But hopefully you like it. In my headcanon, Harry puts together an absurd mashup of colors and styles of clothing (and yes, his "least offensive" are indeed just patched jeans). 
> 
> It's funny - when I started writing this story, I tried to sync up the timeline so the story was taking place in the same month as real life, but that QUICKLY derailed after Halloween. So I apologize for Christmas stuff happening in the story during real-world March. I wasn't anticipating how long it would take to get to that point in the story haha. 
> 
> Anywho, hope y'all are having a good week. Thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	31. The Editorial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: homophobia/biphobia; discussion of past traumas; some PTSD

Harry woke, still deeply sated and content from the night before. Draco had been, well, rather _enthusiastic_ after their date, and he was honestly surprised he had woken up at all after they had ended up staying up until nearly dawn.  
  
What was even _more_ surprising was when his hand came down upon the sheets beside him and felt a cold, empty space under his palm. “Draco?” he muttered, fumbling for his glasses.  
  
“Good morning.” The voice came from over at the table, where Draco was sipping tea with a carefully controlled smile. His body was buzzing with nerves though.  
  
“Hey,” Harry padded over to him. “Did you sleep at all?”  
  
Draco glanced up at him through long lashes and dark bags under his eyes. He smiled again. “No.”  
  
“I’m sorry – is this because…” Thoughts of their dream-like date yesterday began to fade as he remembered the reality they were facing. “I mean, if you _really_ don’t want to give them your article, then of course, I won’t make you-”  
  
Draco closed his eyes peacefully for a moment, blowing some hair out of his face before looking again at Harry. “No, it’s not that. I’ll be fine. I _want_ to do it. I just…I’m just preparing, is all.”  
  
Harry rested his hand on Draco’s and squeezed. Unlike on the streets, he noted it was impossibly easy to do in the privacy of their rooms. “Of course.”  
  
They each prepped for their excursion in their own ways, Draco dressing in crisp, professional robes and carefully shined dragonhide shoes, while Harry merely psyched himself up as he ate his toast and reasoned that there was no way the news would even go out today – even more likely, Draco would ask them to wait until after his holidays at the Manor. His problems would be put off for at least a week.  
  
When it was time to go, Harry pressed a kiss to his cheek, that Draco turned into in order to catch Harry’s lips in his. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured, and even Harry couldn’t be sure which one of them he was comforting.  
  
“Ready?” Harry picked up the Floo powder and stepped into the grate. At Draco’s nod, he tossed it to the flames. “_The Daily Prophet_.” 

  


The past thirty minutes had been some of the most stressful of Harry’s life. After getting past the front desk clerk – who was both shocked and delighted to find both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy standing before him (a newsworthy event, if there ever was one) – they had been passed from office to office, working up the chain of command until, finally, they sat before Head Editor, Barnabus Cuffe, himself.  
  
Well, _Draco_ did, that is.  
  
After being forced to tell and then reiterate their reason for coming to each employee they spoke to, Harry felt Draco go noticeably twitchy with all his frantically contained nerves. Feeling rather defensive himself, Harry didn’t blame him. However, after turning down a fourth press agent who asked to read his article, Draco flat-out demanded to be taken to the “person actually in charge of things.”  
  
And once they had been granted that access – more out of the whole company’s curiosity than anything – Draco had been annoyed enough to declare that he was negotiating with Barnabus by himself.  
  
Which Harry decided he rather preferred anyway. He had dealt with stares all his life, but showing up to a _news_ organization with _Draco Malfoy_ at the height of all these rumors had clearly shocked everyone into a new level of prying interest. He had no desire to be in that room right now to either be on the receiving end of - or apologize for - Draco’s doleful glares.  
  
But Merlin, how long had they been in there? It felt like hours, even though he knew it had likely been only a few minutes. Barnabus’ secretary kept walking by the waiting room Harry was in, sneaking peaks in his direction as she found a seemingly infinite number of files to hand-deliver to other offices.  
  
After a few more minutes, the journalists who were at the office today caught wind of his location and started to meander through the waiting room to use that specific coffee machine that was near Harry and to make rhetorical comments about the weather. Of course, not all of them were so subtle in their ice-breakers, there were always people who had to make a big deal-  
  
“Well, I’ll be damned if it isn’t Harry Potter!”  
  
Harry glanced up as a bearded reporter slung himself into the seat next to his with a laugh that was clearly meant to be friendly but fell a bit short.  
  
“Ready to give an interview at last?”  
  
Harry scowled reflexively, and he also felt a rush of recognition that he couldn’t quite place until he shook his head in response, and a distinctive leer curled the man’s lips.  
  
Then, he remembered.  
  
This had been the one who had asked him whether or not he was the “man” in his relationship.  
  
Harry felt a cold fury flow through his veins. How many times had he replayed the cruel questions of those reporters in his mind – and that one specifically? _This_ was what he was fighting against. This willful ignorance and malicious judgment that could so easily bend public opinion against him and people like him.  
  
Distantly, he heard mugs rattling next to the coffee machine. One jittered off the table and shattered. With surprise, Harry realized that the magic was coming from _him_.  
  
He finally made eye contact with the reporter, not surprised by depths of contempt he found there.  
  
“Oh, I get it. You’re too scared to give an interview like a _man_, so you come here hiding behind your scummy little boyfriend.” He smirked, and it was nauseating. “I think that answers my earlier question.”  
  
Harry shot to his feet, wand out and pointed.  
  
“Take it back.”  
  
He felt the adrenaline humming through his body, that electric surge which had propelled him through so many conflicts, yet undoubtedly muddled his mind. Suddenly, he was back in the woods with the Snatchers. He was imprisoned beneath the Manor. He was striding into the Forbidden Forest with empty hands and a pocketful of ghosts. The tendons in his arm were pulled taut - any trigger, and he would snap.  
  
He could hear the background clatter of people whispering and gathering to watch. This was the worst possible place to have this confrontation, he knew. And it wasn’t just about this reporter either – defeating this specific man would not solve anything. He ought to lower his wand and let it go, but he was gripped with something deeper and more visceral than logic at the moment.  
  
The man chuckled hoarsely. “Did that strike a nerve?” He glanced down at Harry’s wand at his neck with disdain, then returned to meet his eyes. “You know, now that it seems we’re being honest with each other here, I think the news idolizes you too much. Ironic, I know, coming from a journalist. But you’re not some brave warrior. You’re just a mouthy kid with a hero complex, and you got lucky.”  
  
“_Lucky?_” Harry breathed in outrage.  
  
To deal with Death Eaters.  
  
To deal with _Voldemort_.  
  
To lose countless friends and family in the process, and then to be looked down upon by some middle-aged reporter who had likely never looked death in the face.  
  
_Lucky?_  
  
He knew the man was provoking him for the story he could rile, but that did nothing to stem his latent rage. Magic snapped in red sparks from the tip of his wand, threatening to explode – threatening to _curse_.  
  
Against better judgment, a spell was forming at the tip of his tongue when he heard a door burst open and the running of feet.  
  
“Harry, what-? _Expelliarmus!_”  
  
His wand wrenched from his grip, and he let it go, his building fury undiminished. Another mug crashed to the floor. He didn’t need a wand to crush this man.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
He would-  
  
“_Harry_.”  
  
With a growl, he yanked his gaze towards the voice and saw Draco, wide-eyed, Harry’s wand still vibrating with sparks in his hand. In the back of his mind, something akin to shame began to bloom, but he quashed it before it could spread.  
  
“_What?_” he snarled.  
  
Draco just raised a pointed brow and searched his eyes until Harry felt the knot in his chest loosening. He sucked in a deep breath. Under the anger, he could feel the hurt, and this time, he reluctantly let it trickle in. Each breath drained slightly more tension, each second warding in more and more of the emotions he had ignored in order to forget. _Disbelief, hurt, humiliation, shame. Wearied resignation. The sense that he would have to relive these questions for the rest of his life._  
  
Finally, he sagged, stepping away from the reporter, the crackling magic dissipating into the air. Draco let out a sigh as well, relief coloring his face.  
  
Then, Harry heard that awful rumble of laughter once more. The sound of an immature schoolboy hamming it up for the class. “Just as I thought. You’re whipped.”  
  
Before Harry could react, Draco had leveled his wand and was striding over to them. He stopped next to Harry, his jaw tense, his voice tight. “You’d do well not to insult him.”  
  
Harry didn’t have to look to know that his grey eyes were burning.  
  
“Or what?” The reporter spread his arms in false humbleness. Harry could tell he thought himself a damned martyr of the paper, and it stoked his anger once more. “Will you curse me? Throw in some _Dark magic_ that’ll leave me debilitated?”  
  
Draco’s fingers tightened on his wand, and Harry was spurred to motion by the distant flash of a camera. He pushed down Draco’s wrist.  
  
The blonde turned and glared. “What are you-”  
  
“Come on,” he interrupted. “Let’s go.”  
  
He felt a sudden surge of understanding for Draco’s actions a minute ago. Now that the adrenaline had subsided, he could once again _think_, and _logic_ told him that having images of either of them attacking reporters would do nothing to help them get their message out. And, in Draco’s case, could likely even send him to Azkaban.  
  
Harry wouldn’t let that happen. He needed to protect his boyfriend’s image. He needed to protect their future.  
  
It had been a mistake to come here.  
  
Draco knew all of this, he was sure, but it still took a long moment before he finally lowered his wand. Then, instead of heading to the door like Harry had asked, he spun around to face Barnabus – whom Harry hadn’t even noticed joining the onlookers.  
  
“This,” Draco spoke, “is exactly what I was talking about, sir.”  
  
Without context, Harry could only glance between the two men, trying to read the silent conversation transpiring. Barnabus seemed wary, yet not contemptuous like the reporter had been. Perhaps he would see reason – but Harry had learned not to get his hopes up.  
  
At length, the wizened old man said, “What would you have me do?” A beat. “We reached an agreement.”  
  
“That was before your man insulted us,” Draco said. “Fire him. Then, I’ll sign on it.”  
  
Barnabus barked out a short, incredulous laugh. “_Fire_ him? You can’t just expect…I’m not firing anyone right now, there’s no need to be hasty-”  
  
But Draco’s gaze was piercing and focused. “No. He insulted Harry, and as the head of this operation, you’re going to correct it.”  
  
Barnabus just shook his head mutely.  
  
Draco’s jaw hardened. “Fine. Then I’m going straight to _Witch Weekly_. And it won’t take long for the public to find out why.”  
  
The man spluttered. “Hold on-… Let’s discuss this!”  
  
“It won’t look good for the largest publication in Wizarding England to be passed over for an exclusive editorial about the literal savior of our world.” Draco’s tone was clipped and cold.  
  
Barnabus’ eyes bulged, and he saw several press agents darting glances at him accusingly.  
  
The tension sparked anxiety within Harry. Half of him wanted Draco to stop, to stop drawing attention to him and their private struggles – the part that had fought against Skeeter and the press for an entire decade. But half of him also wanted the _Prophet_ to inexplicably explode and go out of business too, so he let Draco continue to dress down the editor in front of his staff.  
  
What could he say? He had an issue with authority.  
  
“What would you have me do?” Barnabus repeated weakly. “The two of us were in the other room – we didn’t even _hear_ what was said.”  
  
Draco pivoted towards the reporter. “You. What did you say to him?”  
  
The man sneered. “I asked him for an interview, and he attacked me. Real ‘hero,’ that one.”  
  
Draco’s mouth flattened into a hard line, and he turned to Harry. “What did he say?”  
  
The uncomfortable pressure of the situation, all the onlookers, almost made him say “nothing,” so that he could walk away from this. But Draco was defending him – actually _cared_ enough to try and make everyone see the truth. He couldn’t betray that effort.  
  
“He called me a coward, and he called you ‘scum,’” he muttered. Righteous anger started welling up inside him once more as he glanced at the reporter. His eyes just dared Harry to say more, smugly satisfied in knowing that he wouldn’t. That he’d be too ashamed to.  
  
Harry cleared his throat, looking towards Barnabus. But there was one thing the reporter wasn’t accounting for in his scheme: Harry was a Gryffindor.  
  
“He _also_…he also implied that I am less of a man for my choice of partner. That to both be a man and be _with_ a man is debasing.” He cut his glare towards the inciter. “Which it is _not_.”  
  
He heard a hushed gasp from one of the press agents. Harry turned back to the crowd, fighting down nausea at the gravity of what he had just confirmed.  
  
Barnabus who looked vaguely sick at the spiraling events.  
  
The reporter scoffed. “I didn’t say that – it’s all _conjecture_.”  
  
After an impossibly long silence, a female reporter in the crowd called out, “It’s what you meant though. I heard it; they heard it.” She gestured towards the people next to her. “And _really_, Graham? I guess that answers what you actually thought about my editorial last month on heteronormativity in Wizarding boarding schools.”  
  
That earned a look of embarrassed shock from the man, and Harry found he could breathe again at finding someone on his side.  
  
“What about you?” Draco cut in, addressing Barnabus. He turned to him with a flourish that he knew would regain everyone’s attention before the circle of spectatorship was too thoroughly distracted. “Do _you_ find it debasing? Is that what this paper stands for?”  
  
Suddenly, everyone was looking to their Head Editor for answers, to make a decision that would be divisive either way. Harry could see the clench of Barnabus’ jaw and the sweat on his brow, and did not envy him this awkward situation. And, as the silence drew on, he feared that, for once, Draco truly had gone too far in provoking someone.  
  
“It…is not,” Barnabus said at last. It seemed to deflate him of a great amount of personal pride to admit it though – to play into someone else’s game. He turned curtly to Draco and Harry. “Let us renegotiate terms in my office.”  
  
He turned and left the room without waiting to see if they’d follow. 

  


Seated across from Barnabus over his expansive desk, Harry couldn’t help but feel like him and Draco were naughty kids who’d gotten called into their Headmaster’s office for fighting. Which, over the years, they had – many times, in fact - and always with each other.  
  
But Harry shook the thought as Barnabus leveled a gaze at them which revealed the depths of his weariness. They were adults now and had every right to make their case – especially to an organization that had inflicted so much personal distress on both of them. This wasn’t the moment to sympathize or fold to authority.  
  
“I can’t fire Graham,” he said bluntly, then held up his hand to ward off Draco’s protest. “That being said, I agree that he was in the wrong in this situation. As such, he will be reassigned to ‘Weddings and Obituaries’ for the time being, which, for a senior reporter, is punishment enough.”  
  
“This is ludicrous,” Draco spat. “So he gets a rap on the wrist and a cushy reassignment? He said slanderous things about Harry - in front of an audience!”  
  
Barnabus ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Graham will often…_provoke_ people in his line of research, that much is undeniable. I don’t claim to agree with all his reporting methods, but he is an effective journalist and a good writer. And,” he said, eyes cutting towards Draco, “he is certainly not the _only_ one to use provocation as a tactic to get what he wants.”  
  
Draco pursed his lips, but couldn’t help looking a bit chastised by the comment. Watching him in all his prime, persuasive confidence made it easy to forget the underlying nervousness Harry had seen evidence of this morning.  
  
“My situation is totally different,” Draco said after a long moment. “_I_ am trying to breed more understanding within our society, while the comments and actions he’s taken completely negate any endorsement your company has made in agreeing to run my article.”  
  
He leaned in, fingers splayed across the showy glass desk. “It is _not_ enough to make a claim with only words. You must support those words with _action_. I, more than anyone, have learned that to be true.”  
  
Harry shivered. He also noticed a glimmer of something like respect spark in Barnabus’ eyes.  
  
“I will not fire Graham,” he repeated, sitting taller in his chair. “But I _will_ publish your editorial without any edits – something I didn’t agree to do before. And I will personally monitor Graham’s behavior and future articles to make sure he is not misrepresenting the image of our paper as something disrespectful.” His eyes fell on Harry. “_The Daily Prophet_ is not as it was in the past; we hold ourselves to a higher standard these days.”  
  
“That’s not en-”  
  
“Draco,” Harry interjected, “it _is_ enough. It’s a fair deal – we should take it.”  
  
Draco hesitated, muscles taut with tension as he considered.  
  
In the end, it was Barnabus who spoke and clinched it. “I would think that you, more than anyone, would understand the value of a second chance.” 

  


Later that evening, Harry listened to the wild crackle of the fireplace as he described this morning’s events to Hermione and Ron through the Floo. When he got to the end of the story, he paused, psyched out by their attentive silence and unsure how they would react to everything he had just told them.  
  
“So…you never got to read the article?” Hermione repeated carefully, like she couldn’t quite believe he had been so stupid.  
  
He shook his head. “But it’s fine. I trust him.”  
  
Ron looked a little pale through the flames, but he rallied enough to say, “Yeah, I don’t think he’d write anything bad. I mean, he’s a sneaky git, don’t get me wrong, but he seems totally head over heels.”  
  
Harry gave a small smile. “I guess we’ll find out in a few days.”  
  
“That’s another thing,” Hermione burst out. “Why so soon? First, he didn’t want to write the article, and now he’s telling them to run it before Christmas? I don’t understand.”  
  
Harry grimaced. “I was a bit confused too,” he admitted. When they’d gotten home from their excursion, he’d asked Draco when it was going to be published, expecting it to be _after_ the holidays, but the blonde had just looked past him and said “as soon as possible.”  
  
When he’d asked if that was wise, given his plans with his family, Draco had simply shrugged and said, “Might as well have everything in the open.”  
  
So, frankly, Harry couldn’t dismiss Hermione’s worries, because he _himself_ was worried. He couldn’t understand these cryptic thought processes unless Draco actually explained them to him.  
  
“Harry, are you sure this is what you want? I’m sure it’s not too late to Floo Barnabus and tell him you’ve changed your mind-”  
  
“No,” he said, resolute. “This is what I want. I trust Draco – whatever the article says.”  
  
He noticed Hermione’s eyes searching the room behind him, and he felt a wave of hurt.  
  
“He’s not here! I’m not saying that to butter him up or something.”  
  
Surprise flashed across her face, then shame. “No, of course not. I didn’t… I know you wouldn’t, Harry, I’m just worried.” Hermione brushed a loose curl from her face, glancing at Ron before continuing. “I just…it’s a weird situation. We know he’s changed from who he used to be, anyone who spends time around him these days could tell as much. But I don’t understand why he wouldn’t let you read the article, and whatever reason he has, I don’t want you to get hurt by it.” 

  


Harry thought about those words late into the night as he tossed and turned at Draco’s side. Would the man betray him somehow – not on purpose, not maliciously, but through some helplessly confused misunderstanding? Draco was hard to read at the best of times, and his seemingly needless conditions for writing the article were messing with Harry’s head.  
  
What could he possibly need to keep secret from Harry until the whole world found out?

  


In the end, his question was answered the day before Christmas Eve when the editorial came out. Harry had spent the night alone, as Draco had wanted to work late on his potion the night before and assured him he’d be better off not waiting up. In retrospect, he must have planned it that way, because from the moment Harry snatched the paper from the owl, his hands began to shake.  
  
The title alone struck him speechless. 

  


**A SECOND CHANCE AT LIFE, A SECOND CHANCE IN LOVE**  
  
by Draco L. Malfoy

As a wise man once said to me, “we are more than just the sum of our pasts.” I’m sure the photo above is enough to prove that your life often twists in strange and unimaginable ways. As such, if you had told me nine years ago that I would be either quoting our Chosen One or writing this article to begin with, I would have told you that you were crazy – along with a whole slew of other offensive jargon. After all, that’s the kind of kid I was, the kind I was raised by my family to be.

And let me just say that it has taken a literal war, a decade, a disinheritance, and a significant amount of unwarranted mercy to reverse. Change, as it happens, is both as grueling as it is inevitable. However, I had the best of help along the way, as the root of my incredible transformation was none other than Harry Potter himself. 

For as long as he’s been alive, everyone has clamored to know the true nature of our Savior. I will say only this: he is both everything and nothing you’d expect of him. As I’m sure this description comes as a surprise, it will require both elaboration and enumeration. 

First off, he’s a sassy git. Yes, I’m sure I’ll be made to regret the printing of those words eventually, but if you want the whole truth, you’ll have to accept that part first. 

Second, he has a horrible sense of fashion and is woefully out of touch with all things Wizarding culture. If you’ve ever seen a _Prophet_ article with a picture of him, you probably thought to yourself, ‘Is that ratty jumper…a new trend?’ The answer, my dear public, is no. It is not a new trend. Harry Potter dresses like shite, and he’s just good-looking enough to fool you into thinking the best of him. As for pop culture, suffice it to say that he’s never even heard of Wyvern Trash – known colloquially as ‘the best band on the face of the planet.’

It’s disgusting, really. 

The third thing you need to know about Harry Potter is that he sucks at Wizard Chess. His eyes are too honest, and they always give him away. 

Fourth, he is far too nice to everyone. This, I fear, is where my insults are beginning to sound like compliments, even though I swear it is not my intention. Suppose, for a minute, you were a horrible, selfish person who said horrible, selfish things to Harry every day of his life for seven years. Suppose you had said terrible things to him _that very day_ and leveled your wand at him in violence. 

Suppose you were about to burn alive. 

Despite everything you’ve said and done, Harry is the kind of person to risk his own life riding through fire and save yours. 

I do not say this as an exaggeration; there was a time when fate tested Harry’s mercy, and the burning idiot was me. 

Fifth, he is the most stubborn person I’ve ever met - with the sole exception, of course, being myself. If you tell him that he dreams of the impossible, he will immediately prove you wrong. If you somehow inexplicably, _undeservedly_ win his affections, he will follow you to the ends of the earth. 

Here, I find it worth mentioning that it does not escape my notice that the vast majority of you are only reading this to find a definitive answer to the rumors that have been spreading of late about Harry and I. If you have reached this far into my monologue, I can only hope that you are reading with the intent to reserve judgment until the very end, because I’m about to tell you that these rumors are true. 

Not that Harry is a Dark wizard. Nor is he a salacious pervert hunting down children in the streets. Really, it’s incredible what people are willing to believe sometimes. 

Hilariously, in the course of the past month, I’ve received hate mail both telling me that I am undeserving of a great hero such as Harry, and - from misguided, distant family members - telling me that _he_ is undeserving of _me_. 

But the rumors I’m confirming are not of his ‘lewdness’ or ‘propensity for scandal,’ but that of his enduring, uncorruptible _goodness_. It would take someone of his unimaginable kindness to both forgive someone like me and still find something worth rehabilitating in the pieces. 

It all comes down to this: sixth, he is merciful; seventh, unobservant, yet somehow wise; eighth, beautiful; ninth, humble to the point he will deny everything I’ve written about him thus far. 

The tenth and final truth you need know about Harry Potter is that I am hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him. 

Some might dispute this on the basis that I am a man. Others might dispute this on the grounds that I am a former Death Eater. I am not here to argue that I deserve to feel this way, only that I already do. 

For those that take umbrage at this fact, here is what Harry Potter, exalted Savior of the Universe, wishes you to know:

He does not care.  
_You_ are, in fact, the problem.  
It is time for a much-needed change in our ways of approaching these matters that are as old as humanity itself.

For those, however, who feel this essay striking a resemblance to their own self-discoveries, he wishes to tell you: 

You are not alone.  
There are those who will stand proud and fierce by your side, whether this a tired frustration or both overwhelming and new.  
The world will slowly change. It must, or he’ll stand once more to force the issue.

My regard for his privacy permits me from saying much more than this - and the rest of the publications out there would do well to remember that limit. I _will_ however, in conclusion, allow myself a much-needed correction to all the articles circulating that describe Harry as a ‘gay debutante’ – as you are wrong on both accounts. 

He is _bisexual_. I am gay. Do your research, get it right. 

As for the ‘debutante’ bit, well…you are only a debutante if you’re a part of _fashionable_ society. Trust me, I would know. And as per my earlier point, I think we can all agree that this debars our lovably ragged Savior. 

At the risk of sounding cavalier, I think I’ll end by saying that that’s all you need to know about both me and Harry Potter. If you still hate me by the end of this article, I would think you are probably wise; but if you hold any anger towards Harry, then I suppose I am not nearly as persuasive in my diction as he believes me to be. 

It’s all the honesty, I’m afraid. I am still not quite used to it. Change is hard; change is slow. And though I have come to agree with Harry that we are more than the sum of our pasts, I have also seen that sometimes it takes a great deal of time, self-reflection, and earnestness for that culmination to come into view. 

I wish you the best in your own personal journey, in the way I have been supported in mine. 

There is much yet to do. 

Perhaps, together, we can make it someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhh we've finally gotten to our good ol' fashioned confession!  
See, I was originally just going to draw this snippet of the previous picture, but then I got overzealous and made the full-bodied, full-colored one from the last chapter. Yeehaw.
> 
> As you can probably tell, the story is beginning to wind down a bit, but never fear! We still have a holiday, a wedding, and some loose ends to tie up before it's over. As always, thanks for reading - and stay safe, everyone!  
xoxo


	32. Unpoised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: oral sex; anal sex; rim jobs; conversation about depression and self-hatred
> 
> Again, this chapter is mostly sex.

Harry realized, at the end, that he was crying. Tears were rolling down his face in warm, wet waves, and though he tried, he could not stem their flow or ferocity. Some splashed onto the newspaper, and he moved it away mechanically, as he knew in the back of his mind that this was something he’d want to reread in the future. Something that meant a lot.  
  
Draco _loved_ him.  
  
He loved him.  
  
Harry could scarcely breathe, and when the next breath came, it heralded in a fresh wave of tears.  
  
He wanted to shout, to laugh, to cry – and as his chest ballooned with emotion, he settled for sobbing quietly in the sun patch of the still-open window. That Draco was willing to say this – no, _write_ this in a medium for the whole world to see spoke volumes about how far he’d come from the snooty boy in Madam Malkin’s who had merely repeated his father’s biased views. It showed how sure he was about _Harry_. It showed how dedicated he was to their shared future.  
  
Harry devoured the article again, laughing fondly at the mild insults peppered in and memorizing the more beautiful lines. And then he forced himself to stop, because there would be time enough to reread once he’d seen Draco again. Seeing him became a sudden, aching need, and Harry nearly tore his doorknob off in an effort to race out of his room.  
  
He was down two flights of stairs by the time he realized he could’ve Flooed, but at that point, it made more sense to keep going.  
  
As he neared the dungeons, Harry could feel his magic going haywire – his chest was so full of emotions, it was bursting. He reached Draco’s door, and the lock clicked open with the sheer force of Harry’s desire to enter, knob turning even before he laid his hand on it.  
  
Draco’s head snapped towards him as the door opened, and Harry was struck all over again by how beautiful he was. His hair was tousled, his eyes glinting in the green glow of the porthole windows. His jaw was tight though, and there were smudges beneath those eyes like sleep was a bygone dream. From his perch upon the bed, he managed to look both haughty and terrified.  
  
“Draco, what the hell is this?” Harry yelled, because he wanted – _needed_ – to talk through these words and their meanings, and picking a fight with Draco came more naturally than breathing. He’d figure the rest out as it happened.  
  
The blonde blanched. “I-…”  
  
Harry advanced towards the bed, article clenched in hand. “Sending this to the whole world before you even say it _in person?_ How dare you.”  
  
Draco scrambled to his feet, clearly caught off guard by the way this was turning out.  
  
_Good_, Harry thought. _For once, we’ll be on the same page in this madness_.  
  
“And this – what was _this?_” He pointed to a now-familiar line. “Was this supposed be a love letter or a roast? ‘_Sassy git_’ my arse!” He stepped into Draco’s space, shoving him and catching him in one movement by the front of his shirt.  
  
The man’s eyes were huge, and he looked on helplessly.  
  
“Here’s a list for _you_, since you seem to like them so much: _One_. Draco Malfoy is a prat. _Two_. Draco Malfoy is needlessly dramatic. _Three_. He’s fussy too. _Four_. He’s shite at Exploding Snap. _Five_. He gets all moony-eyed when he drinks firewhisky. _Six_. He knows less about Muggles than I do about some edgy metal band. _Seven_. It’s highly ironic that he calls _me_ unobservant, given the situation. _Eight_. He thinks he’s way cleverer than he is. _Nine_. Draco Malfoy needs to get better at communicating, because – _ten_ – I am hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him too.”  
  
Harry watched the moment his words sunk in and the profound effect it had on Draco’s eyes. How they went from comically wide and scared to a soft, warm grey that made his heart race.  
  
And then spark with delayed indignation, as he reached out and grabbed the front of _Harry’s_ shirt in retaliation.  
  
“You _arse!_ For a minute there, I thought you really hated it!” He pulled Harry in closer by the shirt until his eyes glimmered angrily only a few inches away.  
  
Harry met his gaze for several moments before letting his façade of a fight drop away as he leaned forward to catch Draco’s lips in his own. The blonde let out a muffled grunt, but after a few seconds, he was melting into the kiss, transmuting anger into pure, unbridled passion.  
  
He dropped Harry’s shirt to curl his fingers into his hair, and somewhere along the way, Harry dropped the newspaper to touch him as well. By the time they finally broke for breath, Draco had him pressed against the bedpost. Even after separating, Harry’s eyes stayed fixated on his pink, swollen lips.  
  
“I’ve been meaning to tell you that for weeks,” he whispered.  
  
Draco sucked in a breath, and Harry’s gaze shifted unconsciously to his neck. He swallowed audibly, and Harry watched his adam’s apple bob in a graceful dip.  
  
With sudden purpose, Harry pushed him softly backwards onto the bed. Draco sat, continuing to watch him with awestruck eyes, and waited to see what he’d do. Harry himself wasn’t quite sure. Usually, when they made out, Draco would naturally take the lead and then begin to pleasure him in various enticing ways…  
  
But this time felt different. Harry wasn’t satisfied with just being touched this time – he needed to show Draco exactly what he felt; he wanted to be the one _touching_.  
  
When Draco made no move to stop him, Harry leaned forward slowly and kissed the hollow of his throat. He started gently, unsure how the blonde would react, but Draco acquiesced to the touch at once, his eyes fluttering shut, his head lolling to the side to give Harry better access.  
  
He felt a thrill of desire shoot through him at the vulnerable display. Draco was always so guarded. Always. With renewed vigor, Harry worked his way up, licking and kissing every available inch of Draco’s neck. With growing confidence, he lapped at Draco’s jugular, sucking in the tender skin beneath his ear and rolling it beneath his tongue. Leaving soft red bruises down his neck like petals in a storm.  
  
Draco groaned quietly under his ministrations. When he hit a ticklish spot, the blonde twitched, and Harry shifted his body weight accordingly to pin the man, so he couldn’t wriggle away. His knee slotted between Draco’s legs to complete the new position, and he noted with surprise how hard Draco already was. He pulled back in wonder to look, and at his shifted focus, the man blinked his eyes open.  
  
They were black and lust-ridden, and Harry was nearly undone at the sight.  
  
“You like that?”  
  
He meant it to come out teasingly, the way Draco said things like that so easily. But instead, it came out tentative and wonderstruck.  
  
Draco’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He settled for nodding, undoubtedly afraid that speaking would break whatever tender spell they were under that had reversed their roles so drastically.  
  
Desperately, Harry searched his memories and found that he couldn’t remember Draco ever saying that he _didn’t_ want Harry to take the lead. And now, he was rather regretting not trying it sooner. There were so many curves and angles of Draco’s smooth flesh that he had only just begun to explore. There were so many expressions yet to wring from him.  
  
The mere thought was intoxicating.  
  
Harry dragged his hands down Draco’s chest, fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. Draco jolted into motion, beginning to undo the ones at the top until Harry forcibly stilled his hands. Draco was always the one undoing - unbuckling, unbelting, holding him in suspense until the proper moment – controlling both the outcome and velocity with which they arrived. This time, Harry wanted to undo _him_.  
  
Harry had been a shaking, dripping mess in front of Draco - and he rather wanted to see more of _him_ unpoised.  
  
He popped each button languidly, taking his time to kiss each new swath of open skin. Peeling back inch after inch of the now-rumpled shirt. As he reached Draco’s sternum, he planted an infinitely tender kiss into the middle of the divot. The skin there jumped with sensitivity, and Harry smiled softly until he glanced up and saw the look on Draco’s face.  
  
Harry froze. “Are you…crying?”  
  
At Draco’s shaky intake of breath, he began to panic.  
  
“_Merlin_, did I do something wrong? I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean…-”  
  
He began to scramble away, but Draco grabbed his arm with one hand while the other scrubbed furiously at his eyes. “No, it’s fine! I just…I didn’t mean to… You didn’t do anything, I’m just… I’m sorry.”  
  
“What’s wrong, Draco?”  
  
The blonde pressed the heel of his palm deep into his eyes. “Nothing. It’s fine. We can keep going. I’m okay now.”  
  
When he failed to remove his hand, Harry pulled it gently from his face to look him in the eyes. “Draco,” he said gently, “you’re clearly not. Please talk to me.”  
  
Inside, though, he felt his stomach twisting. _What had he done wrong? Had Draco hated it?_  
  
Draco’s flighty gaze finally met his, and he sucked in another breath and held it. A long moment. Then, he seemed to collapse with the exhale. “I’m fine,” he repeated, though weakly.  
  
Harry let his hand skate across Draco’s cheek, erasing the track from his tears. “You can tell me.” His thumb caught on the line of Draco’s jaw, that even now was clenching as if holding in some incredible force. “I love you,” he whispered.  
  
Draco’s face crumpled again, and when Harry refused to let him hide the expression, he sagged on the bed. “I know,” he said at last. “It’s just…it’s one thing to hear it, but another to _feel_ it.”  
  
Harry brushed some blonde bangs from his face. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I…” Draco’s mouth opened and closed, fighting to find the right words. “I just…it’s easier to justify things when you can divorce them from your feelings, and… I’ve never – I mean, I _have_, but not like that – and it’s not that I don’t want to, I just-”  
  
“Are you talking about the sex?” Harry interrupted, quickly becoming lost.  
  
Draco rubbed at his face. “No. Yes. I mean, that’s part of it-”  
  
“Because if you haven’t done that before or if what I was doing was making you uncomfortable and you prefer to be the one _doing_-”  
  
“That’s not it,” he cut in. “And I have. Done it before, I mean.”  
  
Harry filed that information away with surprise. Not that it _should_ be a surprise – he knew they’d both been with different people before.  
  
Draco squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s just…never like _this_. Never with this much emotion.” He opened his eyes. “Never with you.”  
  
Harry’s heart quickened, and he held Draco’s fiercely fragile gaze, waiting for the rest.  
  
“And it’s not that I don’t want to – I _do_ – but it’s just hard for me to…to-” his voice cracked, “have you treat me like I’m something _precious_.”  
  
The way he said it nearly broke Harry’s heart. So doubtfully, like the word was too divorced from actuality to even be comprehended.  
  
Draco sighed defeatedly. “After all I’ve done, after all I’ve been. I know you disagree, but _in no way_ do I deserve that. Usually, when we have sex, I can just tell myself it’s for _you_. That it’s something you want – some pleasure I’m able to give _you_. So whether you ask me to fuck you in a locker room or leave you tied up on your bed or _whatever_ – I can do that in a heartbeat. I’d do anything for you. But _you_ doing any fraction of that for _me_ \- who is so undeserving of it – just feels wrong.”  
  
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, grounding himself in the smooth warmth of his hand against Draco’s cheek. “Does this mean that…any time we’ve had sex, your heart wasn’t in it?”  
  
His question was met with silence.  
  
Then, Draco’s eyes widened. “No! Of course not, that’s not what I meant. I enjoy it – I mean, _obviously_, I enjoy it-”  
  
“But you said it’s easier when you can divorce your feelings from it. So is that what you’re doing? Just doing whatever you think I’ll like?” He took a shaky breath. “Because that doesn’t make _me_ feel good about all this – it makes me feel like I’ve been a supremely selfish prick.”  
  
“_Harry_,” Draco pleaded, “you know that’s not what I meant. It hasn’t been surface-level for me at all. None of it has.” He buried his face in his hands and groaned. “I’m fucking this up so bad. _I’m_ so fucked up.”  
  
Harry rested his hand lightly on Draco’s arm, willing down the panic that had risen in his throat. “Then explain it to me so I understand.”  
  
Draco grabbed his hand and clasped it between his own. He looked Harry in the eyes. “What I’m trying to say is…I don’t dislike what you were doing… It was wonderful, actually. I just…I’m trying to explain why I freaked out. The things that make me freak out. One of those things, unfortunately, is when I’m feeling so…so-” he swallowed uncomfortably, “loved.”  
  
His eyes darted away, but then he forced his gaze back. “I love you. Sweet Merlin, don’t ever think that I don’t. I’m just not good at receiving such feelings in return. It…it will take time. But I’d like to try.”  
  
Harry let out the breath he’d been holding, attempting to exhale his worries along with it.  
  
“Thank you for telling me this,” he said at last, squeezing Draco’s hand.  
  
Draco’s body relaxed a fraction, though he was still bowstring tight.  
  
They sat there, staring into each other eyes until the solemn silence became awkward. And dammit, even after this fraught discussion, Draco still looked so enticing.  
  
When he could endure it no longer, Harry burst out, “May I kiss you again?”  
  
Draco was startled into a laugh that softened the harsh angles of worry on his face. It was a good look on him. “You may,” he said at last, brushing his own hand over Harry’s cheek.  
  
Harry leaned in easily then, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips lightly against the blonde’s. He brushed his tongue gently - almost chastely - across Draco’s lower lip, wanting more, but skittish to go too fast after their conversation.  
  
But Draco groaned against his mouth, meeting Harry swipe for swipe and pressing further into him. Harry let his hands smooth across Draco’s arms, dragging back up to his chest where there were still a few buttons to be undone. He popped them slowly, watching for Draco’s response, but the man’s eyes remained closed as he threw himself into the kiss.  
  
The shirt fell open, revealing his firm chest that was silvered with scars. Harry’s hand captured the ring settled between his collarbones and ran his thumb over the warm metal before drifting to shuck the shirt from Draco’s shoulders.  
  
He might have thought the blonde hadn’t even noticed, immersed as he was, had it not been for Draco reaching back to untangle the sleeves from his wrists. While he was unguarded in such a way, Harry raked his fingers down that smooth, beautiful chest, skating over his ribs and flattening against the soft skin of his stomach. He saw the bulge in Draco’s pants grow even more, and he grasped the man’s hips in order to ground himself – to slow his rapacious momentum.  
  
Draco’s hands slid free of the shirt, and then he too was running his hands over Harry’s torso, gliding and grasping everything he could touch. With a moan, he broke the kiss, pulling Harry’s jumper off over his head with one smooth movement. Then, he was pulling him in close, practically whimpering with lust as Harry climbed into his lap to straddle him.  
  
Harry ground against Draco and moaned in response. That sweet, torturous pressure; the warm slide of Draco’s bare skin against his – it was enough to drive him mad. Then, Draco’s hands wrapped around his bum to help rock them together, and his burning desire flared infinitely brighter. He gripped and squeezed, and Harry remembered how brilliant it had felt to have those hands kneading his bruises away after being spanked.  
  
He shivered, and reached down to grab Draco’s arse. He needed to share this feeling.  
  
Draco’s eyes blinked open in surprise, but quickly became hooded once more as Harry dragged him up against his erection in devastating rhythm. He was getting desperately close to release, and they hadn’t even taken their trousers off yet. And while he would be perfectly content to keep chasing his climax this way, Harry also wanted something new.  
  
He wanted Draco. Unpoised and perfect, pressed flush against every line of his body in a shared ecstasy that the man could not forsake his own interest in.  
  
Harry slowed to a stop. Draco pulled away from their kiss, lips swollen and cherry pink. “What’s wrong?” he gasped.  
  
Harry smiled. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re just wearing too many clothes.” His hands slid to Draco’s zipper, dragging it down slowly, teasingly. He watched the man’s abdominal muscles clench at the touch.  
  
Draco was oddly breathless, and while Harry glanced up at his face, his grey eyes stayed riveted on Harry’s hands. He watched the blonde swallow.  
  
After an eternity of dragging down the zipper, his trousers lay open, and Harry wasted no time in pushing his pants down underneath to free his straining erection. Finally, Draco’s eyes flickered to his face, with no small amount of both lust and fear.  
  
Harry met his gaze with resolution. “This is for _you_ this time,” he said, wrapping his hand around Draco’s cock.  
  
The man shuddered at the touch, and he twitched even more violently when Harry lowered his head took him into his mouth.  
  
“Harry-…Harry you don’t have to-”  
  
He quieted Draco’s protests with a hard swipe of his tongue up his full length. When he broke away to plant kisses around the base, he also planted whispers of “shh” and “you deserve this” and – ever so quietly – “I love you.”  
  
Draco was crying again, but this time, it seemed to be more out of joy than self-loathing – though Harry was sure it was still a bit of both. He took Draco deeper and deeper, groaning shamelessly at how arousing it was to undo him, and he felt the telltale swell of him heavy on his tongue.  
  
“Harry, stop, or I’ll-…_I’ll_-”  
  
He grabbed Draco’s hips and pressed even harder. Then, Draco was coming, hot and thick down his throat, and he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed.  
  
Draco pulled Harry’s face from his still-twitching member with shaky hands. He let out a quivery huff. “Fuck.”  
  
Harry smiled at the obscenity, pressing his lips gently to Draco’s.  
  
“But you still-…I mean, I can’t, unless we wait-” the blonde rushed to say when he had drawn away.  
  
Harry sucked in a breath, treading lightly. “I was thinking…we could try something different.”  
  
Draco’s eyes widened with sudden understanding.  
  
“We don’t have to though!” Harry continued. “If you’re against it-”  
  
“I’m not,” Draco stated quietly.  
  
Harry’s heart sped up with a sudden surge of energy. “You’re not? Are you sure?” He bit his lip. “I mean, we haven’t-…though, I know you said you’ve done it, but…did you enjoy it?”  
  
Draco huffed a soft laugh. “It wasn’t quite the same situation.” Then, at Harry’s nervous look, “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it if it’s with you.”  
  
Harry drifted his hands over Draco’s hips, unconvinced.  
  
The blonde sighed as dramatically as he could, given the circumstances. “Harry, look. I would enjoy anything you do to me, if we’re being perfectly honest.” His grey eyes gleamed with sincerity.  
  
Harry tried to quash down his fears. “As long as you’re sure.” He guided Draco to lay back again, feeling rather empowered by the man’s sprawling nakedness while he himself was still partially clothed. Draco was clearly thinking about the same thing, judging by his embarrassed flush.  
  
Harry met his gaze seriously once more. “This is for you too.” He drew his hand down Draco’s abdomen, loving the way his muscles twitched and clenched. His hand slipped past his dick, coming to rest just beyond his bollocks. “But it’s also for me.”  
  
Then he was teasing apart the small knot of Draco’s flesh and leaning forward to kiss it, as Draco moaned “Wait, you don’t have to-” and then “Merlin, _fuck_.”  
  
He licked and kissed and kneaded until Draco had relaxed and loosened to putty. Harry whispered the incantation, and – wandlessly - his hands were slicked with lubrication. Then, with another lusty glance at Draco spread so openly before him, he began working him with his fingers, drawing small guttural sounds from his lips.  
  
By the time he was ready, Harry was so hard, he was on the verge of passing out.  
  
Draco looked no better. His head was thrown back, hair spilling across the pillow in a tousled mess. “Do it already,” he growled, and Harry shivered at the challenging spark in his eyes.  
  
He scrambled to peel his trousers and pants off, wanting to be fully naked for this moment as well. Then, he lined himself up, biting his lip as he glanced up at Draco one last time for confirmation.  
  
Those fiery grey eyes – surely, he was drowning in their quiet insistence. He pushed in.  
  
Unimaginable pleasure surged through him at the feeling of pressing into that tight, warm heat. It was overwhelming – and in the back of his mind, he wondered whether he was dying, because surely he couldn’t survive so much sensation all at once. And how fitting that would be – to die by the hands of his arch-nemesis turned lover, Draco Malfoy.  
  
He felt Draco’s hands come to rest on his arse, and his eyes flew open to look at the man he had come to love so much.  
  
“Does it hurt?” he asked.  
  
Draco smiled with an incredible fondness. “No, you twat. _Move_.” And, to prove his point, he clenched around Harry with a mischievous smirk.  
  
Now, Harry was _actually_ dying.  
  
He thrust slowly at first, then more and more deeply, panting with desperation to get as close to Draco as humanly possible. The man’s hands pulled him down in time with his thrusts, holding him with an equal frenzy and unyielding grip.  
  
And then, rather suddenly, it was too much - and he was coming. Draco hauled Harry’s face down to gasp his climax against his lips, and he shuddered at the intensity of it all.  
  
For an indescribable moment, it felt like he was flying.  
  
When it was over, he panted several moments before whispering, “I love you” against Draco’s cheek.  
  
He felt, rather than saw, Draco’s lips stretching into a smile. “I love you too, Harry.”  
  
Harry sighed contentedly, more at peace than he ever remembered feeling in his life. He rolled off of Draco, resettling with his head on the man’s bare shoulder, marveling at how truly perfect it felt. If only he could stay like this forever.  
  
Then, rather suddenly, thoughts of Christmas were intruding upon his bliss. Draco would be leaving him for the Manor today. The thought brought even more anguish than it somehow had before.  
  
_How was he supposed to live without_ this _now? This newfound honesty, this breaking down of age-old barriers? This unimaginable joy_.  
  
His conversation with Minerva flicked across his mind. Abruptly – and without dwelling on the consequences - he turned to Draco and asked, “Do you want me to come home with you for the holidays?”  
  
He wasn’t even sure what had driven him to finally ask – perhaps because the weight of Draco’s absence now seemed more unbearable than the comedy of errors that would undoubtedly await them on that specific path.  
  
But as soon as he did, Draco’s face broke into a smile so hopeful that it utterly extinguished him.  
  
“Would you?” His grey eyes raced over Harry’s face. “I thought you didn’t want to. That you’d rather die, actually.”  
  
And Harry laughed aloud at how stupid he’d been. Minerva had been right after all. She was always right.  
  
“What’s another death? For you, I’d go anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, these two idiots finally talking to each other. Certainly took long enough. 
> 
> But yeah! Tune in next week for pre-Christmas shenanigans, and I hope everyone is staying safe during these frightening times!  
xoxo


	33. Holiday Greetings from Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: unaccepting/homophobic family members; PTSD; discussions of war

Harry’s “packing” for the Malfoy’s consisted of throwing a pile of jumpers in a bag, and then having Draco _repack_ only the nicest, most presentable ones in a neatly folded duffel after scoffing at his indiscretion. One must be “presentable” at the Malfoy family Manor, he reminded.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m not part of ‘fashionable society’ now, am I?”  
  
Draco blushed a little at the reference to his article. He extricated the socks Harry had shoved in the bag and began to press and fold them with a few flicks of his wand. “Quite right,” he grumbled. “Why, did you _want_ a debutante ball in your honor? To advertise you as an eligible bachelor?”  
  
Harry laughed dryly. “Yeah, well I might meet some hot, prissy pureblood to sweep me off my feet. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”  
  
The blonde glared. “Yes, highly amusing. Get your pureblood jokes out now, because they will certainly not be well-received at the Manor.”  
  
The smile died on Harry’s face, though he found he wasn’t too upset. The euphoria of their earlier experiences had yet to fade, and the idea of going with Draco seemed – at the moment at least – more exhilarating and romantic than dreadful. Though, he might not be seeing it that way tomorrow.  
  
“Speaking of the article though,” he said, “where did you get that picture?”  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow. “With the amount of paparazzi following you? I had a whole selection.”  
  
Harry blinked. “Like what?”  
  
At his obvious interest, a slow grin began to spread across Draco’s face. He drew an envelope from his pocket. “I swiped some copies – if you want to see, that is?”  
  
Harry nearly tackled him for the pictures. “_Fuck_ yes. Where do these people even hide?”  
  
The man laughed, holding the envelope tantalizingly out of reach and drawing the photos out at an angle he couldn’t see. “Come, Harry. What’s the magic word?”  
  
“_Accio_.”  
  
Draco scowled, unamused as the pictures flew to Harry’s waiting hands. “I didn’t mean _literally_.”  
  
But Harry wasn’t listening; he was tearing through the surprisingly large stack of unauthorized snapshots. Here was one of him looking into Draco’s eyes at The Three Broomsticks. Another captured Draco scanning a wall of fudge flavors before turning to glance at Harry’s back. Then, it was the confrontation scene by the register. Here, they were playing Quidditch – someone must have paid a student off to take that one. After that, they were back in The Three Broomsticks. This time, though, the photo depicted the exact moment Draco leaned forward to grasp his hands.  
  
Then, finally, Diagon Alley. There was a whole series of these – capturing anything from their blurred forms in the crowd to that tender moment in which Draco stepped in close to wipe off the whipped cream. In one, Harry was throwing his head back and laughing at something Draco said, and the man’s eyes slowly filling with delight as he did. But the one Draco chose was by far the best – it illustrated the exact feeling of warm, unbearable tension that rose in his chest every time they locked eyes. It caught that look of Draco’s that was both smug and amused and exasperated and affectionate all at once, and the awe reflected in Harry’s expression at seeing something so beautiful.  
  
In short, it was honest. And having something so honest and true laid bare for the world to see was nothing short of terrifying. But also somehow wonderful.  
  
He swallowed a lump in his throat.  
  
“These are…not awful,” he mumbled, still transfixed by the last one.  
  
Draco chuckled warmly. “I know, right? I was expecting at least a few more of you looking uncouth.”  
  
“You chose the best one,” he mumbled. Then, in a whisper, “we should take more pictures.”  
  
Draco grinned, plucking the photos from Harry’s hands and stowing them carefully back in the envelope and into his pocket. His eyes were dark and unyielding. “That can be arranged.” 

  


At five, they set their bags by the fireplace and opened the Floo. As green reflections danced along Draco’s cheekbones, Harry began to feel the first trickle of nervousness. “You didn’t tell them I was coming,” he stated.  
  
It wasn’t a question; he had been with Draco the entire time since the decision was made.  
  
“No. No, I didn’t.” His face was tight, eyes lost in some future interaction that had yet to happen.  
  
“Do you think that will help?”  
  
Draco turned to face him. “Honestly? I don’t think anything will ‘help,’ so it’s best to just do it and get it over with.” He looked so frighteningly lost, driven by the same force that had gotten Harry through the war: sheer momentum.  
  
Harry nodded. “Let’s do it then.”  
  
They picked up their bags and stepped into the grate. Draco dipped his hand in the pot, catching a handful of Floo powder with long, slender fingers. Harry grabbed his other hand, and the side of Draco’s mouth twitched into a slight smile.  
  
“_Malfoy Manor_.”  
  
Harry stumbled out of the ornate fireplace on the other side, and Draco’s steady grip was the only thing that prevented him from faceplanting on the obsidian tile. He was covered in ash – somehow, he was _always_ covered in ash after he Flooed - but Draco’s clothes were still pressed and spotless. Harry noted vaguely that if his boyfriend had actually been using Dark magic all along, it was definitely _only_ for this.  
  
The floor was polished to a gleam so magnificent that he could see his own reflection, which only made him feel more horribly inadequate. He looked like a grubby little urchin next to Draco – or, given the current circumstances – a shilling-a-dozen chimneysweep. It was undoubtedly the Malfoy’s goal of having such a shiny floor, and Harry found himself already resenting them.  
  
On the other hand, though, the parlor had been decorated for Christmas since he last remembered it, and the overall effect softened the harsh lines of the pillars and gothic sconces. Garlands hung with sticking spells around the top border of the room, and fairy lights glistened among the aromatic boughs of pine. There were crisp red bows lining the garlands, lining the walls. It looked like something out of one of Aunt Petunia’s home decoration magazines.  
  
And while Harry was deciding whether that made him feel impressed or disgusted, with absolutely no warning, Lucius Malfoy stalked into the room.  
  
He appeared before Harry had a chance to organize his excuses and prepare his mind for the wave of hurt and bitterness that he realized – a second too late – had already flashed across his face.  
  
“Oh,” Lucius said with a pinched expression. His eyes glanced past Harry, then resettled on Draco as he addressed him. “I see we have an uninvited guest.”  
  
Draco’s jaw hardened.  
  
Lucius was studying his son with a sort of stoic bemusement, and Harry took that opportunity to study _him_. The man looked older than he remembered – though, not nearly as disheveled as he had been in the final battle. Or the trials, for that matter. His face looked thinner though, gaunter, with harsher lines of bones jutting out – like the dementors had drained him of more than just his happiness.  
  
But his newfound frailty was belied by that same cool control he had always possessed. That arrogance that burned quietly in his ice grey eyes. His posture had not suffered from the war, it seemed.  
  
When Lucius finally finished inspecting his son, his gaze transferred to Harry. A flush of indignation spread through him as the man eyed his clothes and hair with unencumbered scorn. Then, his gaze dipped pointedly to Harry’s hand – which, until now, he hadn’t realized was still clasped in Draco’s.  
  
Harry rushed to pull it away at the same moment that Draco clamped down tighter, squeezing their interlaced fingers calmly, yet firmly.  
  
“There was a time I would have been overjoyed for you to stumble into my house so carelessly,” Lucius said, eyes flicking over Harry and glinting with dark implications. He took a few steps towards them, and Harry tried not to flinch.  
  
Nausea roiled in his stomach. He remembered exactly how it had felt the last time he had been here. How he was seventeen and always a second away from dying, from his friends getting killed in front of him. He remembered Hermione’s blood on this floor, the swell of pain in his forehead as someone pressed a wand to their Dark Mark to summon their ‘Lord.’  
  
Lucius continued. “Just as there would have been a time I would have welcomed the fact that my son had become your weakness.” His feet clicked to a stop several feet away, and he rested his hands on his walking stick. “Though, I admit, this certainly wasn’t the _way_ in which I imagined it.”  
  
Harry gritted his teeth. Draco remained deathly silent.  
  
“But,” Lucius went on, “I suppose that’s part of your ‘great victory,’ isn’t it? Stealing away not only my name, reputation, and finances, but also my _legacy_.” His tone was acerbic. “I suppose, since you were on the ‘_right side_’ as they say, you feel _justified_.”  
  
“This isn’t about _you_,” Harry spat.  
  
Lucius raised a brow and met his furious gaze. “No?”  
  
Draco tightened his grip once more, and Harry fought to quell the rage rising in his throat. “No. It’s not. This isn’t about your money or reputation or _whatever_ – you brought all those things upon yourself.”  
  
Lucius raised his chin in disdain. “So you expect me to believe that, after years of animosity, after years of rivalry on the Quidditch pitch and fights in the Great Hall, after all those insolent little comments to your pathetic little friends about my son and our family, after a _war_ in which we fought for incongruous purposes – after all that, you just _happened_ to start courting my son, with whom you shared all this ponderous history?”  
  
Harry felt himself reddening. Put like that, it did frankly sound ridiculous. Which was what strangers and the journalists had been telling him all along.  
  
_Was_ he just doing this in order to extend a feud? To feel the rush of screwing over Lucius Malfoy and his despicable world view? To metaphorically “conquer” that which had defied him so often in the past?  
  
Was this relationship merely a stage on which his addiction to danger could perform?  
  
Harry glanced back at Draco and felt a rush of hatred for Lucius. No, that wasn’t his reason. It might have been a small part of it, deep down, and that was why it was getting under his skin - but it wasn’t what was important. He _loved_ Draco. And he cursed Lucius for reaching down into his insecurities to destabilize that.  
  
“Yes,” he said, turning back to face him. “That’s _exactly_ what I expect you to believe.”  
  
Their unflinching eye contact was broken only by Narcissa rushing into the room, then straightening and surveying the situation with quick, calculating eyes. “Draco, dear. Harry. I didn’t realize you’d arrived. Supper is nearly set, so why don’t you two put away your things and settle, and we’ll meet you in the dining room in twenty minutes.”  
  
She said it with perfect politeness, but one that brooked no argument from either them or her husband. Lucius sneered at Harry one final time before turning and departing. Then, Narcissa closed the distance between them and drew, first Draco, then Harry into her embrace.  
  
It was only when he hugged his mother that Draco finally dropped Harry’s hand.  
  
“Thank you for coming,” she said earnestly, cupping Draco’s face between her palms. Her eyes seem to speak volumes more in silence. “And Harry, it’s lovely you could make it too.”  
  
Neither commented on the fact that he hadn’t strictly been invited. “Err, thanks for having me,” he said. “Sorry if it messes with your plans, Missus Malfoy.”  
  
“Narcissa,” she corrected, smiling lightly.  
  
“Narcissa.”  
  
Her smile widened a fraction. Then, true to her word, she was sweeping out of the room, leaving Harry and Draco to gather their bags and ascend. 

  


Draco’s room, though he had never seen it before, was exactly as he had imagined. Green walls, opulent dressers, emerald bedspread across a regal four-poster bed. All of the furniture was a rich, dark brown, and the floor to ceiling windows were outlined with thick, burgundy drapes.  
  
There were few personal effects. And though Draco had undoubtedly spent much more time in this room he had grown up in, Harry found he liked his professor’s quarters more. They reflected his current state of mind better – organized, for the most part, but occasionally falling into a chaotic ruin. It was more humanizing.  
  
Harry set his bag down on a chair. “I like it,” he said as neutrally as he could.  
  
“You hate it,” Draco said, reading his face with narrowed eyes. “Don’t lie.”  
  
Harry sighed. “Okay, well I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it. It’s just…less _personal_ than your other room, I feel.”  
  
Draco set his bag on the edge of his bed, pulling out shirts to hang in the wardrobe and facing away from him. “Well, that’s to be expected, isn’t it? There wasn’t much room for _personal expression_ with the Dark Lord living in my house.” He spelled drawers open and floated clothes into the appropriate levels. “The blanker I could make it, the more likely I was to survive.”  
  
Harry ran his hand over the velvety back of the chair, lost. “Why was that?” he asked quietly.  
  
Draco leveled him with a considering glance. “I think you know,” he said at last. “Occlumency is much easier when you’re not surrounding yourself with the very things you’re trying to hide.”  
  
The brokenness in his tone was suddenly making Harry’s chest tight. “But why would it matter?” he asked, almost rhetorically. “Whether you thought about the things you liked, or had up a few posters-”  
  
Draco made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, turning fully now. “Because I liked _you!_” He bit his lip and ran a hand over his face, looking wearier than Harry had ever seen him. “And that, more than anything, would have gotten us both killed.”  
  
Harry felt his arm shaking, and realized he was clutching the chair tight enough to leave long dark imprints where he had irritated the fabric. He let go and stepped forward to embrace Draco, resting his chin on that bony shoulder.  
  
“This is why I hate coming back,” Draco said softly.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered into the crook his neck. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
The blonde let out a shaky sigh in his arms. “It’s okay,” he said at last. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known.”  
  
“I can’t even imagine it though. Living here with _him_. It must have been indescribably horrible.”  
  
Draco stroked Harry’s back in small circles. “It was,” he muttered. “It was.”

  


They entered the dining room a little while later, after Draco had composed himself and Harry had attempted to comb his hair a bit. As usual, it did nothing to curb his latent urchin-ness, which he tried to come to terms with on the long, winding journey to the dining room.  
  
He’d just have to be a _defiant_ urchin then.  
  
_This is ridiculous_, he thought, _I have a vault full of money, and the status of “Savior” – how can the Malfoys still make me feel like a peasant?_ He caught a glimpse of the Malfoy family crest on an enormous tapestry as they walked by. _Ah, yes – never mind. It’s that ‘new money/old money Gatsby thing’ Hermione was telling me about once_.  
  
They arrived at the dining room, and Harry realized with a wave of panic that he would never be able to find his way back without Draco’s express guidance. The predatory expression on Lucius’ face did nothing to ease his nerves as they entered and took their seats.  
  
“Draco,” Narcissa greeted. “I had the house elves make your favorite – Finnan haddie.”  
  
Draco, glaring at his father, remained unmoved. Harry rushed to answer in his stead, “Thanks, Missus Malfoy. I mean-…Narcissa. We appreciate it.”  
  
Lucius looked in the other direction and snorted like he couldn’t believe he had to watch this travesty unfold in his own home.  
  
Gritting his teeth, Harry picked up his fork and knife as the meal began to float in from the kitchen to land softly on the table. He could get through this. He was used to being treated like a disgrace growing up.  
  
When Lucius failed to start any sort of conversation beyond the one silently narrated by his eyes, Narcissa stepped in once again. “How is teaching going? You’ve both successfully finished your first semester now.”  
  
“Well, that’s hardly a challenge, is it? It’s just reading textbooks aloud to some children,” Lucius commented.  
  
Narcissa ignored him, smiling encouragingly at Harry.  
  
“Err, yeah, it went well, I’d say. Though, I realized after I gave all my levels a test at the end, that I should’ve just done what Neville did and do a practical. They’re all so scatter-brained before Christmas anyway.”  
  
Lucius mumbled something like “spare me” under his breath while Narcissa exclaimed, “That’s so true, I imagine! Why, I remember our Draco would begin writing us in _October_ about plans and present ideas for Christmas.”  
  
In his peripheral vision, Harry noticed Draco begin to blush, though he was furiously working to keep his face stern and blank.  
  
“Oh yeah? What kind of things did you ask for?” Harry teased, turning to Draco. While he was generally mortified about showing any kind of affection in front of Lucius, he also recognized that the alternative was to sit in total silence and glare, which wouldn’t get them anywhere. Instead, he resolved to try and forget that Lucius was even there and speak only to other two.  
  
Which was hard when the man kept making snide little comments and snorting disapprovingly at everything he said.  
  
Harry looked at Draco long enough that he finally felt awkward enough to answer. “Brooms and books, mostly,” he murmured.  
  
Lucius laughed loudly and forcedly. “Oh, come now, Draco. Not just _any_ brooms – only whichever broom the ‘Great Harry Potter’ was wielding at the time.” He swirled his wine glass several times before taking a sip. “Of course, look at all the good that did.”  
  
Harry’s fingers clenched around the butter knife he was holding and prayed he wouldn’t shatter anything with a pulse of uncontrolled magic. “Draco does very well at his sport – in both teaching and playing,” Harry enunciated.  
  
“Oh, surely,” Lucius replied flippantly. “But he never could seem to focus his craft enough to beat _you_. What’s the point in being good, if you’re not even the best at your relatively small school?”  
  
Harry scowled and made to reply, but he was cut off by Draco asking, “Mother, will you pass the rolls, please?” It was accompanied by a pointed look.  
  
_Fine, he’d shut up and let it go.  
  
But Draco had better help come up with an alternate subject of conversation then_.  
  
After several moments of silent entreaty, Draco seemed to get the idea and stiltedly said, “I see you got the decorations up in time. When were they completed?”  
  
It seemed like an all too formal, distant thing to ask one’s mother, but hey, maybe that’s what rich people were all like.  
  
“Yes, we were able to finish last week,” Narcissa replied with a thin smile. “Though it took a while to do the outer gardens and gazebo, of course. With less help…” she trailed off, seeming to remember that Harry had, in fact, been the one to free some of her ‘help.’ “Anyway,” she said, “it’s all done and ready in time.”  
  
Conversation dropped off, and they ate in silence for several minutes – the only sound, the soft clinking of cutlery on the priceless china. Though it was an exceedingly awkward experience overall, Harry couldn’t refute that the food _was_ delicious.  
  
When the elves vanished their used plates and brought out several tarts and puddings, Harry couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “Do you guys…have any Christmas traditions or anything?”  
  
As was becoming common, Lucius snorted and raised a brow in incredulity. Narcissa, however, cleared her throat and gave him a small smile. “We do have a few. Let’s see…we always have a roasted goose on Christmas Day. On Christmas Eve, we usually go out to the gazebo for a bit after dinner to watch the lights. Nothing terribly exciting!” She poured herself some coffee from the ornate kettle that had floated to the table. “How about you, Harry? Any traditions that you’ll be missing this year?”  
  
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. “I, er…well Molly – Molly Weasley, that is – usually makes a bunch of pies and pasties and such. We’d always open up one gift on Christmas Eve and then wait to open the rest until morning. And we often had pick-up games of Quidditch in the snow.”  
  
He caught Lucius rolling his eyes.  
  
“And with your relatives?” she asked, obviously attempting to be inclusive towards the Muggles everyone knew he had grown up with, though not enough that they knew what the Dursleys were like.  
  
He cleared his throat after several tries. “They’re, um…well-…I didn’t really celebrate much with them. No traditions or anything to speak of.” It wasn’t strictly true – but, as the traditions had always excluded him, it wasn’t exactly _untrue_ either.  
  
“Oh, I see,” Narcissa started to say while Lucius interrupted.  
  
“Narcissa dear, don’t _embarrass_ the poor boy. Traditions, after all, are for those who are actually involved in their family history.” His gaze fell upon Harry, and he curled his lip in distaste. “You can’t expect a half-breed like him to understand _tradition_.”  
  
“That’s _bullshit_,” Harry said before he could stop himself.  
  
Draco stilled beside him. Narcissa’s eyes went wide.  
  
Lucius laughed once, then leaned forward in his seat with a dangerous glimmer in his eye. “Oh?”  
  
But Harry wasn’t afraid of him – hadn’t been since he was twelve. “I said that’s bullshit,” he repeated. “You demean me for my family’s heritage, and yet it’s common knowledge that your family has been marrying half-bloods for generations. If you didn’t, you’d have run out of cousins to marry rather quickly. To say I have no family history would be hypocritical. So clearly, your issue isn’t with my _blood_ – it’s with _me_ personally.”  
  
Lucius’ eyes glittered with dark amusement. “And is that your intention then? To _marry_ into my family?”  
  
Harry sputtered, face flushing with embarrassment. He certainly hadn’t been implying-…in fact, he hadn’t really been thinking much at all, when he brought up this point. Just regurgitating information he’d learned from Draco. And now, he was put on the spot and expected to answer.  
  
Harry pushed himself to his feet, hating feeling so trapped. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t!” he countered hotly, knowing he was making a scene but quite unable to stop. “But if it is, you’d be the last to know!”  
  
And with that, he turned and stormed out, glancing only briefly at the wide-eyed astonishment written across Draco’s face. He was out of the dining room already when he heard a distant clatter of silverware, and three more rooms away by the time Draco caught up with him.  
  
Which served Harry just fine, because he was already hopelessly lost and a few seconds away from kicking some priceless antique in his frustration.  
  
“Did you just propose to me…and in front of my _parents?_”  
  
Harry snapped his head around to face him. Draco looked tired and confused, and certainly in a bit of a haze.  
  
“I said _maybe_,” Harry mumbled, wanting this whole night to end already. Not even end-of-semester grading had left him this exhausted.  
  
“You pretty much implied-”  
  
“Draco. Please.”  
  
The blonde closed his mouth, but his eyes were still all distant like he was thinking about it.  
  
“Can you just show me where your room is again, so we can go to bed?”  
  
Draco blinked up at him. “Oh. Sure.” He led them out into the hallway. “This way.” 

  


Harry tried to memorize the maze of staircases and turns as they went this time, but even as they approached the final steps, he felt his directions getting confused. Draco opened a door that looked identical to every other one they had passed, and then, mercifully, they were back in his quarters.  
  
With the door closed, Harry finally felt safe in muttering, “I fucking hate your dad.”  
  
Draco quirked a small smile. “Oh good. We have at least one thing in common then.”  
  
Harry sighed, trying to let go of all this furious tension. “No, he’s like, _really_ a dick.”  
  
“I learned from the best,” Draco said with a sad sort of smile.  
  
“That’s not-…You’re not like him at all,” Harry said. “You’re a dick in a different way.”  
  
Draco flopped into the armchair and spread his arms entreatingly. “Alright – in what way am _I_ a dick then? Enlighten me.”  
  
Harry leaned back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a dick in that way where if there were only one slice of treacle tart left, you’d take it, eat it in front of me, then inform me you didn’t even like it in the first place – all to drive me absolutely insane. And look delectable doing it.”  
  
Draco sat up in his chair with interest. “Am I?” He grinned and ran a hand through his hair distractingly. “I hadn’t noticed.”  
  
Harry practically growled as he watched. “And that’s another thing you do,” he said, frustration giving way to lust, his voice deepening. “You’re a dick in that way where you play coy, even when you know exactly what I want.”  
  
Draco tilted his head in mock innocence. A smirk played about his lips as he lounged back in the chair once more. “And what is it you want, Harry?” His voice was soft, daring.  
  
Even having had Draco in a very different way now, he still felt the thrill that the man’s quiet confidence inspired in him. That infuriating, entrancing cockiness. Harry’s mouth was going dry – and he didn’t want to think.  
  
He simply wanted to follow the promise of pleasure that was laced throughout that question.  
  
“Like I said,” he whispered, “you already know.”  
  
Spread lazily like a king on a throne, Draco’s face broke into a knowing grin.  
  
“I might. I have some ideas. But first, Potter, get on the floor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius is such a dick, but he's _so_ fun to write. Like, what a dramatic schoolboard mom.  
For writing this section, I literally had image tabs open of "Malfoy Manor" and then "Rich people house Christmas," because there is something extremely specific about that kind of display. 
> 
> In other exciting news, I wrote my first crack fic for the Cards Against Muggles Crackfest, that is being revealed sometime today, so you guys should check that out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192383) and read the other entries as well! Come tell me how to write better crack haha. 
> 
> Also, CRAZY NEWS - I've finally reached the end of this story at long last, which is why you'll notice that I updated the final chapter count to 38 chapters. It's going to be 37 and an epilogue, and I hope you enjoy the rest in the coming few weeks. I'm pretty happy myself with how it turned out. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and your comments are precious to me! <3  
xoxo


	34. Sugar Plum Fairies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.  
Guess what? My boyfriend wrote another terrible crack parody of my story!! Again, before reading this chapter, he wrote what he "thought would happen" (though, really, what he _wanted_ to happen) in Chapter 34. Feel free to read it either before OR after you read mine, as it has NO bearing on the actual plot!  
You can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479288).
> 
> t/w: homophobic/unaccepting family members; oral sex; anal sex; light bondage; brief reference to the war

Harry fell to his knees in front of Draco’s chair. There was still this tension lingering in his body, coiling his muscles with years of pent-up frustrations and sorrows. He felt it heavy and repugnant in his throat. The fight with Lucius had brought it all back.  
  
But Draco – Draco could make it go away. Work it out of him like a sweat. And, dear Merlin, he wanted it to be gone.  
  
All he had to do was submit.  
  
Harry glanced up at Draco and found himself pinned by those searing grey eyes. A breath shook his overfull chest.  
  
Draco ran his eyes down Harry’s form hungrily. He sighed, and an odd expression colored his face as he glanced around the room. “I’ve waited so long to have you here.”  
  
His heartbeat quickened. Though he didn’t know exactly _how_ long, it was evident Draco had already liked him back when he was still living here. That meant that he had probably-…  
  
And while thinking about _Harry_…  
  
He felt his trousers tightening. Each nook and cranny of this room became fascinating to him when he thought of it like that. Had Draco stretched across that bed, thinking of him? Had he touched himself on this very chair – eyes wild, trying to occlude himself even as it was happening?  
  
“Show me,” Harry managed. “What you wanted to do with me.”  
  
Draco smiled - a lusty, predatory thing. “Oh, Harry… There are as many fantasies as nights I slept in this room.”  
  
And before Harry could even _begin_ to process that, Draco was leaning down and kissing him. Harshly. Yearningly. In a way that seemed to draw life from the memories of this room – that made it feel like he was not only kissing Draco, but every iteration of Draco from about sixth year on. It passionate and tender, wild and furious, heartbroken and elated all at once - and it made Harry nearly weep with need.  
  
“Please. Just choose one,” he croaked, voice coming out reedy and raw.  
  
Draco’s breath caught. Then, he was standing and moving past Harry, stopping in front of his dresser to draw something out of the drawers. The angle he was standing at prevented Harry from seeing what it was, but still, he thought he saw a flash of green.  
  
Draco walked back towards the chair, pulling Harry to his feet and drawing him into a kiss. Harry melted into it gratefully, running his tongue along Draco’s full bottom lip. He ran his hands up the blonde’s chest, kneading those lean pecs and searching for his nipples through his shirt. Draco’s hands shifted from his shoulders, and then-  
  
Then, his hands were trapped – Draco wrapping and knotting them with a few swift tugs.  
  
Harry broke the kiss and glanced down at his wrists in exasperation. “A Slytherin tie? _Really?_”  
  
Draco smirked and grabbed his chin. “You _did_ ask for my schoolboy fantasies.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, face flushing. “I didn’t know that you’d always been such a kinky bastard.”  
  
That made Draco laugh. Then, he was kissing Harry again roughly, running his hands up and down his body while Harry could only squirm and press his bound wrists deeper into his chest.  
  
Draco drew away with a breathless sigh. “Is that okay? Can you _handle_ it?”  
  
Harry shivered, barely remembering his original statement. A good kiss from Draco could nearly _obliviate_ him.  
  
“Oh, I can handle it,” he murmured, looping his arms up and around Draco’s head. He pulled their bodies flush and shuddered at the warm, reassuring pressure.  
  
Draco smirked against his lips and crowded him backwards towards the bed. Harry readied himself to fall back on that silky green bedspread, but instead, he felt the bedpost knock into him. Instead of redirecting him though, Draco simply reached past his ear and pulled a silk bathrobe from the hook there. He tossed it somewhere behind him.  
  
Then Draco was lifting Harry’s arms gently from around his neck and up, up against the bedpost and snagging his bonds on the clothing hook. Draco let his own arms fall with a look of wonder on his face.  
  
Harry tested the tie, knowing he could free himself easily it if he wanted, but choosing instead to relax his arms and let gravity hold him captive.  
  
He was rewarded almost immediately, as Draco ran a thumb across his cheek - face flushed, eyes black. He swallowed. “You look so perfect like this.”  
  
Harry licked his lips, his mouth dry. “Like you imagined?”  
  
Draco’s eyes snapped to his. “Better.” Then he was gliding his hands down the planes of Harry’s stomach and fondling him through his trousers. “I used to imagine this too,” he admitted before sinking to his knees.  
  
He pressed his face to Harry’s crotch, breathing in deeply before undoing the button and drawing down the fly. Looking down to watch, Harry could see the way his muscles subconsciously clenched as Draco began to mouth the bulge of him through his pants.  
  
He wanted to run his hands through that tousled blonde hair, to pull him in closer, harder. But the tie was restraining him. And he found himself gripping the knots instead with white-knuckled intensity.  
  
Draco drew down his length, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the thin fabric in a maddening tease. Harry groaned. Unable to control the intensity or friction, he could only arch, wantonly, into the touch. But as soon as he did, Draco would draw further back, ghosting only the slightest, featherlight kisses over him.  
  
“_Draco_,” he warned. His voice did not come out threatening like he hoped.  
  
The blonde smiled broadly, dipping his chin to press his kisses into Harry’s hips – ignoring his dick entirely now. His touches were soft, languid even, but entirely too infuriating to be sweet. He was mocking him – mocking him with the way his tongue trailed down his abdomen, the way he bit lightly at the waistband of his pants. Holding himself at just enough distance to drive Harry crazy.  
  
_Merlin fuck_, he was hard. It was all he could think about as Draco kissed and caressed and danced around actually _touching_ him. He was blisteringly hard, precum soaking through his pants and reminding him of his own filthiness with each wet and aimless thrust.  
  
“Draco please-…” he panted. “Come _on_-”  
  
The man chuckled against the base of his prick, and Harry shuddered at the vibrations. “I wondered how long it’d take you to start begging.” He toyed with the waistband some more. “In my fantasies, you were always too proud to beg. I’m glad to see that isn’t true.”  
  
Harry bit his lip as Draco peeled down his pants at last. He was so pent-up, so sensitive that even the sudden rush of _air_ felt like too much on his blazing skin. “I probably wouldn’t have,” he confessed with a groan. “Back at Hogwarts.”  
  
“No,” Draco agreed, “you probably wouldn’t have.”  
  
He licked a hot stripe up Harry’s cock. His eyes gleamed as Harry jolted like he’d been shocked.  
  
“Which is why I imagined it like this,” he laved the flat of his tongue over the head, “only you hating me. Hating me desperately, but-” he met Harry’s gaze as his lips brushed torturously over the tip, “…_wanting_ me more still.”  
  
There was a guttural whine, and Harry realized it was coming from him.  
  
He now wished his hands were free for an entirely different purpose - to hide his face that was now cycling through expressions that he could neither control nor comprehend. And through it all, Draco merely watched him, smearing precum across his lips with hungry eyes.  
  
“Mmm,” Draco hummed, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut against another round of vibrations, thinking he might just pass out. “You like that, don’t you? That I imagined you. Here. Twitching-” he ran his hand over Harry’s lower stomach and smiled as the skin there jumped, “-dripping for me.”  
  
He ran his tongue up the length again, then stopped, wrapping a hand around the base and considering.  
  
The stopping and starting had Harry’s knees shaking.  
  
“Like I said, in my fantasies, you always hated me. Frankly, I don’t think I could have even fathomed anything else. So you’d watch this with disgust, wanting to tear away from me-” Draco smiled here, and it was the most wicked thing he had ever seen, “-but also bucking, unable to stop yourself, as you fucked the cruel words from my mouth.”  
  
Harry couldn’t breathe. He legitimately couldn’t breathe as his whole body tensed and focused all its nerves on that one singular point. Draco’s words were all that existed. Filthy and incendiary, falling and searing him with a careless precision that even now made his veins flare as if delivering fire throughout his body.  
  
“You’d try to remain quiet,” he went on, “you’d rather die than let me hear – but soon, you’d be groaning. Softly at first. Then louder, feeling too good to stop. You’re losing the battle, and I’d watch the exact moment you think ‘_fuck it_, I’m Harry Potter, and I don’t do anything by halves.’”  
  
And now he _was_ groaning. Groaning and babbling things he didn’t even normally _say_ like “_christ_” and “_jesus_” and other things buried deep in his Muggle-raised psyche.  
  
Draco’s voice was strangled. “And then you’d come for me. _In_ me, _on_ me, _cursing_ me, _marking_ me-…_Fuck_, Harry.”  
  
And then he was wrapping his lips around him like he was dying. Like he needed this in order to survive – pressing and sucking and _inflicting_ upon Harry the most resplendent of pressures. Sucking even as Harry writhed and moaned. Pulling him deeper with every helpless thrust and scream.  
  
But when Harry finally came, it was utterly silent.  
  
His body crumpled in on itself, unable to bear the spasms of pleasure wracking through it. Jerking until every muscle had burnt out. He sagged, and his bound wrists were the only thing holding him up.  
  
Draco drew back finally, opening his eyes with the fierce light of baptism. He looked both surprised and yet brazenly content. He drank in Harry’s expression, pupils rapt and dark as he whispered, “Let me fuck you.”  
  
And Harry was nodding, still unable to speak, but wanting anything and everything Draco was willing to give.  
  
Draco rose to his feet, hands shaking slightly as he unhooked Harry from the bedpost. Brushing his forehead against Harry’s as he navigated them onto the bed. Breathing Harry’s exhale as he prepped and pushed inside him. Swallowing his gasps as he worked him towards a second climax.  
  
And when Draco came, it was _Harry_ devouring _his_ moans. 

  


They lay still for a while after. Draco had untied his wrists tenderly, and it was him who broke the silence now, a thumb brushing Harry’s cheek. “I’m almost afraid to go to sleep” he admitted.  
  
“Why?” Harry asked. His eyes flickered open from several inches away.  
  
Draco sighed quietly. “What if I wake up, I’m sixteen, and this is all some horribly realistic wet dream?” And, under the humor, he sounded frightened too, like he _was_ in fact the Draco whom Harry had seen crying in the bathroom all that time ago.  
  
He forced a smile against the pillow. “You’re _not_ sixteen. Trust me when I say you wouldn’t have been able to do _that_ when you were sixteen.”  
  
Draco let out an affronted huff, dispelling some of the tension. Then, grasping Harry’s hand in his, he finally closed his eyes. 

  


Harry woke to a loud crack of apparition right next to the bed. He fumbled for his glasses for several moments before realizing that Draco must have put them on the nightstand at some point and snatched them up with a grumble.  
  
An offended-looking house elf glared at him from their bedside.  
  
“Err, hello?”  
  
He heard Draco stir grumpily beside him.  
  
“Roddy has been sent to inform Master Draco…” his eyes glanced over Harry disapprovingly, “-and _guest_ that their presences are being required at breakfast.”  
  
“Thank you, Roddy,” Draco mumbled blearily, rubbing at his eyes while he sat up. When the elf made no move to leave, he dropped his hand and said rather drily, “That will be all, I think.”  
  
The elf scowled and disappeared with a crack.  
  
Harry found himself smiling despite the rude wake-up call. Draco looked so adorable with his hair sticking up and sheets spilling across his waist like a model. “Look! You’re not sixteen after all,” he teased.  
  
Draco smirked, but it was lazy, like he wasn’t quite awake enough to sharpen the look. “Indeed not. And yet I’m getting summoned to family meals like I am.” He slipped out of bed and picked his wand up off the floor to start summoning clothes with.  
  
As he pulled on some trousers, he landed Harry with an amused glance. “By the way, that wake-up call was posh for ‘you’re horribly late, we’re already eating, and we expect you to be down in two minutes flat.’”  
  
Harry scrambled out of bed to Draco’s laughter. 

  


When they made it downstairs, Harry was surprised to be led into a totally different dining room – this one set up almost like a greenhouse with an expanse of east-facing windows. Harry could see a few white peacocks in the garden, strutting between elegant topiaries and light-bedecked pines. And there in the room, on chairs of white oak and pale gold, perched Lucius and Narcissa, already partially done with their croissants and tea.  
  
“Mornin’,” Harry mumbled, overtaken by an ill-timed yawn.  
  
The two looked up as they entered, Draco greeting them with a warm “Mother” - and then “Father” accompanied by a stiff nod. He sat, and Harry sunk into the seat next to him. And across from Lucius’ doleful glare. Hell.  
  
“Happy Christmas Eve, you two,” Narcissa was saying, passing them plates laden with pastries and fancy jams. “I trust you slept well?”  
  
Harry nodded. “Yes, quite.”  
  
Eyes focused purposefully on his cup of tea, Lucius muttered, “As if anyone could sleep through all that racket.”  
  
Harry tried to fight the blush that rose to his face – didn’t want to give Lucius the damned _satisfaction_ – but in the end, he was too mortified to prevent its spread.  
  
He busied himself buttering a scone. _Weren’t rich people supposed to have_ decorum?  
  
But Lucius, sensing his advantage, was already turning to Draco. “Really, son. I thought I taught you the silencing charm when you were _five_. Have a little courtesy.”  
  
Draco’s jaw clenched, though his tone was forcibly conversational. “There are sixty-seven rooms in the Manor, Father. It’s not my fault if you choose to lurk in the ones closest to mine.”  
  
Lucius scoffed, lip curling. “I wasn’t particularly _close_.”  
  
At that, Draco’s cheeks pinkened slightly, but otherwise, he maintained a perfect, blank mask as he took up some toast and spread a meticulous layer of jam.  
  
“What are your plans for the day, dear?” Narcissa stirred some sugar into her tea with brisk, efficient strokes.  
  
“I thought I’d give Harry the tour,” he said, not missing a beat. “He’s only seen a small part of the Manor after all.”  
  
“And yet, he’s already seen the most fitting room for him,” Lucius remarked. Then, almost airily, “The dungeons are lovely this time of year.”  
  
“_Lucius_-” Narcissa warned.  
  
“But go ahead! Show him the rest of the Manor, son. Describe the ‘horrible’ things we said and did in each and every room. After all, that’s the way ‘we raised you’ – isn’t it?”  
  
Suddenly, with a terrible clarity, Harry realized he was referencing Draco’s article. He had read it then – of _course_ he had read it. It was too early in the morning for this.  
  
“Father, _don’t_-”  
  
“Oh, I think I _will_,” he snarled. “Before I _die_, and you both pretend you were never a _Malfoy_ at all!”  
  
Harry glanced between them, father and son, identical in their sparking grey eyes.  
  
“Is that what you want, then?” he continued in the face of Draco’s silence. When he still didn’t respond, Lucius let out a disgusted sigh and stood.  
  
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered and walked out of the room. 

  


The grounds were surprisingly lovely, and especially with the ornaments shimmering through the light dusting of snow. After Draco’s fight with his dad, they had thrown themselves into this “tour,” and it had taken several hours of curt descriptions of wainscoting to wear away at Draco’s subsequent sullenness. Now, they had finally made it out into one of the Malfoys’ many gardens, and the mood had thawed enough – despite the actual chill – for Harry to feel justified in throwing the first snowball.  
  
That, of course, had devolved into a full-on snowball fight that left them both ice-battered and breathless under the gazebo. At one point, Draco had resorted to transfiguring his ammo into ice dragons that would chase their target, and that had driven Harry to blast them apart with _bombarda_s and whip up mini snow-tornadoes. He absolutely would have won, but once he’d tackled Draco down into the snow, he hadn’t quite had the heart to finish him (and ended up snogging him instead).  
  
They were having so much fun out from under the Manor’s ominous shadow that Draco insisted they have a picnic lunch in the gazebo, and he cast about twenty warming charms on the open-aired structure to make it habitable for such. After a bleak conversation with Roddy, the elf reappeared with some sandwiches, and another disapproving look.  
  
“Master Draco is not being inside to dine with his parents? His father insisted-”  
  
Draco’s jaw clenched. “My father can take his demands and piss off!”  
  
Roddy’s eyes went wide. Then, so did Draco’s. They stared at each other for a long moment.  
  
Guiltily, Draco added, “You can tell Mother we’ll be in for supper.”  
  
Roddy nodded, still dumbfounded, and Apparated away.  
  
Draco leaned against the bench with a shaky laugh. “I’ve never said something so harsh to my father before. I’ve never dared.”  
  
Harry took one of his hands in his. “Not even when he disinherited you?”  
  
Draco shook his head with a wry smile. “Not even then.” He leaned forward to brush some snowflakes from Harry’s bangs. “It’s your fault, you know. You bring out the defiance in me.”  
  
Harry’s heart quickened, and he stepped into him, pressing far too closely for outdoors where anyone could be watching. “Thank Merlin for that,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss him.  
  
After a few moments, he stepped back from Draco’s chapped, red lips with a smirk and flicked his eyes upwards. “Sorry. _Mistletoe_, you know?”  
  
And Draco followed his gaze up to where there was indeed a clump of vine unfurling above them. 

  


They went for a fly in the afternoon that quickly escalated into a Quidditch skirmish, and by the time they came in for dinner, they were chilled to the bone and pleasantly sore all over. Without even changing – Draco _was_ being far more defiant, Harry could tell – they strolled right into the dining room and took their seats to the sound of Lucius choking on his wine.  
  
“Oh, this is the last straw,” he spat, dabbing his shirt furiously with a cloth napkin.  
  
Narcissa raised a hand to quiet him, but he waved it away, undeterred.  
  
“No, you listen to _me_, Narcissa. Enough coddling. Our son has the _audacity_ to write such filth about us in the papers – and then, on top of that, he brings Harry _bloody_ Potter to our table for Christmas - and you say nothing. He goes frolicking about the grounds like an indiscriminate _fairy_ – and still, you say nothing. And now, he comes here, dressed completely inappropriately for a holiday meal, and what? You want me to congratulate him on his magnanimity?”  
  
Harry could feel the good mood of the afternoon draining away in that vitriolic silence. So much hatred, so much waste.  
  
Narcissa drew higher in her chair. She spoke with a deadly calm. “Lucius, he is an _adult_. His choices are beyond you now.”  
  
His eyes narrowed, which drew attention to the bags under them. “That doesn’t mean you can’t discourage bad behavior.”  
  
“And what exactly is _bad_ about it?” she snapped, chin lifting. “Our only son finding peace after the war? Finding _love?_ Mustering the grace to share it with us, even when he knows it won’t be well-received? When traditions are _stifling_, Lucius, then it’s high time we _change_ them.”  
  
Lucius stared at her, shocked for a long moment. Then, he whispered quietly, almost brokenly, “Not you too.”  
  
He looked into her eyes. But her gaze was unwavering, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. He stood, and without another glance, once more turned and departed. From the silence in the room, Harry could tell that these walk-outs were unprecedented.  
  
Narcissa watched his back with a sort anguished firmness, and it wasn’t until he’d disappeared that Harry noticed a single tear sliding down her cheek.  
  
She wiped it away quickly, turning to Draco with a falsely bright smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Did you two have a nice tour? I see you went for a flight.”  
  
“Yes,” Draco mumbled faintly. “It was fine.”  
  
“Your house is lovely,” Harry rushed to say, heart twisting at the hurt she was hiding. “Really! The grounds are incredible. It must have taken a long time to decorate it all like you did.”  
  
She laughed, a little wetly. “Thank you, Harry. That’s very kind of you to say.”  
  
Dinner arrived at the table, and they fell into safe conversations about mundane things going on in Wizarding London. Narcissa played off her sadness well, though he caught her occasional lingering glance at Lucius’ empty plate setting, and the expression on her face simply gutted him. He, more than anyone, could understand loving someone he probably shouldn’t.  
  
After dinner, Draco made moves to stand but was arrested by his mother’s voice.  
  
“Draco.” She looked at him and sighed. “Will you go speak with him?”  
  
Draco’s whole body tensed. He held her eyes for a long time before answering softly. “Haven’t I wrecked your holiday enough, Mum?” The question seemed to deflate him a bit. “And besides, it’s not like he’ll listen to anything I say.”  
  
She shook her head slightly. “You haven’t wrecked anything, dear. I just…I feel that it would be good for you to speak with him. Even if it doesn’t seem like he’s listening now.”  
  
His voice was tight. “I can’t keep going on appeasing him-… I just can’t.”  
  
She nodded, eyes glistening once more. “I know, honey. I know. I’m not asking you to. Just be honest with him. How he reacts is all up to him.”  
  
Draco took one last long look at his tormented mother and folded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, I’ll talk to him.”  
  
He glanced rather helplessly at Harry, who put his hands up in supplication. “I’m fine here. Go.”  
  
He nodded once, then slipped out of the dining room, looking lost.  
  
Harry turned back to Narcissa.  
  
“I hope you don’t think I’m cruel for asking him,” she said at last. When he sighed and shook his head, she continued. “I just…I believe my husband has the capacity to change. Or if not change, then at least learn to accept. Perhaps that makes me foolish, but I can’t help but wish it were true.”  
  
He offered a wan smile. In all honesty, moments like this always frustrated him to no end. There was no clear answer for him to give, no obvious path that would lead to a better resolution.  
  
After another minute, she stood and asked, “Will you accompany me to the gazebo?”

  


The lights were, of course, even more spectacular at night. From the gazebo, they could see three of the lower gardens as well as the sprawling majesty of the entire countryside. Upon entering, Narcissa had cast several warming charms so familiar in their ferocity and sensation that Harry couldn’t help but smile. They watched for a while in silence.  
  
“You guys do this every year?” he asked at last.  
  
Narcissa glanced over at him like she’d been broken from a deep thought. “The gazebo or the decorating?”  
  
“Both, I guess.”  
  
She looked out over the tasteful garlands and fairy lights. “Yes. Always. Except for…well, except when _he_ was here.”  
  
_Voldemort_.  
  
She didn’t have to say it.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured reflexively. Then, feeling oddly compelled, went on, “I’m sorry too for messing up your Christmas. I wasn’t before - not _really_ – but I am now.” Even if things had been shaky here before, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d shattered whatever existing peace they’d had left.  
  
She blinked at him. “You didn’t-…” Stopped. “Thank you, Harry, I appreciate that.”  
  
He took a sip of the mulled wine Roddy had brought them. Then, he murmured, “I wish Draco could see this.”  
  
Narcissa nursed a small smile of amusement. “I can assure you that he’s seen it all before.”  
  
Harry blushed. “I…I know that. I mean, we were here earlier today even. Just, it’s so much prettier now – with all the lights.” He glanced around the gazebo. “And surprisingly less mistletoe.”  
  
Narcissa’s brow creased, and Harry wondered whether he’d said something wrong, but she just looked out over the rolling hills of snow with a considering look on her face.  
  
A few minutes later, she spoke.  
  
“I remember a time when the mistletoe would appear to us too…”

  


With Roddy’s guidance, Harry retired to Draco’s chambers after some more tea and conversation inside. He still wasn’t back.  
  
While waiting, Harry busied himself with cataloguing the room, going through the bookshelves and whatnot. To his dismay, it was all fairly boring – potion books and novels similar to the ones Draco had at Hogwarts. Though, he supposed that if Draco _did_ own anything scandalous, he likely wouldn’t have left it in his childhood room at his parents’ house.  
  
It was such an odd thing, the concept of having two rooms. Two homes. In his life, Harry had barely managed to eke out one at a time.  
  
When he ran out of things to see in the main room, he went through the bathroom cabinet next to the enormous claw-footed tub. There were numerous gels and powders for hair and skin that Harry couldn’t even begin to understand. He made the mistake of popping one open that smelled like rotten plums, which he swiftly recapped.  
  
After circling the suite several times over, Harry grew restless. Was Draco okay? Or had Lucius said something utterly debilitating to him? He had said once that the man was wont to spew “psychologically damaging” things, and it worried him.  
  
But it also wasn’t his business. Draco could deal with his father, and if he chose to confide in Harry, then that was his own decision. It would only make things worse for everyone if he were to butt in uninvited.  
  
Harry resolved, at length, to go downstairs for a glass of water.  
  
He was about halfway to the kitchens – by his likely inaccurate estimation – when he heard voices from one of the rooms. It was just past the grand doors to the library, so from what he remembered from the tour this morning, this must be the study.  
  
Pressing closer, he could hear Lucius inside, shouting something about “honor,” and Draco, sounding wearier than he had ever heard him, replying, “I’ve told you. I’ve told you before.”  
  
Harry knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop. But caught as he was in that trap of plausible deniability, Harry sunk against the wall for a moment and listened.  
  
“-en _why?_ Explain why it had to be _him!_”  
  
“…I don’t know what it is you can’t wrap your head around. I befriended him – _just like you asked_. I grew close to him, learned his fears and frustrations, became important to him. The only thing I’ve defied you on is _why_.”  
  
“Yes, but it’s the _reasoning_ that makes all the difference here. And don’t pretend you did any of this for me.”  
  
“I wasn’t planning to. But if the only thing you _respond_ to is when people _do things for you_-”  
  
“I’m not discussing this again. You know why I have the stances I do. You’re just being purposefully obstinate…”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and fought down the sickening feeling that was rising in his throat. He had spent so many nights in situations like this – pressed against a wall, hearing all the ways in which he was a curse upon a household. A veritable _abomination_.  
  
He had been on the other side too - the one in the room, arguing with Vernon until he was blue in the face about his right to exist and be treated with a modicum of respect. And every time, it felt so suffocating – so humiliating and repetitive that he lost all hope of change.  
  
He didn’t want Draco to lose hope.  
  
While he wasn’t sure he believed Narcissa’s convictions that Lucius could change, the last thing he wanted was for Draco to bear that weight of unmitigated defeat. Even when it was the healthy choice, it was crippling.  
  
With his heart in his throat, Harry decided he’d heard enough. He pushed off the wall and walked away. 

  


In the morning, he woke up and was surprised to find a set of grey eyes staring back at him. He almost always got up before Draco, and the man had come in rather late last night. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey,” Draco echoed back, oddly serious. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”  
  
“Merry Christmas to you too. Is everything okay?”  
  
Draco sighed, his breath fanning his ruffled fringe. “Of course. I just…I wanted to tell you how much it means to me that you came here with me. I know it hasn’t been…pleasant.”  
  
Harry pulled him in for a kiss. “Is that my Christmas gift? ‘One apology from Draco Malfoy’?” He laughed. “No, but seriously – it’s fine. I’m sorry _you_ had to go through this. You’ve endured more than I have.”  
  
Draco sat up in bed, raising a brow. “I don’t know if that’s true.” He stretched, worry receding from his face as he did so. He seemed satisfied now, like he’d been up a while waiting to give the simple apology. “Anyway, we should go downstairs – or I’m sure Roddy will be up to help us along.”  
  
“You sound so casual about it. I’d have pegged you as the type to run downstairs on Christmas morning and tear into all your presents with ruthless abandon.”  
  
Draco snorted. “Maybe a few years ago, Potter. You missed your window of opportunity.”  
  
But despite what Draco said, once they had entered the grand living room and noted Lucius’ pointed absence, he allowed some of his repressed excitement to show. After all, it _was_ Christmas.  
  
He kissed his mother on the cheek and fell into a chair right next to the enormous tree. Then, with lazy wand movements, he began to summon his gifts – tearing into them not so unlike how Harry imagined.  
  
They took a break to have some breakfast, which entailed the largest, fluffiest waffles Harry had ever had, doused in myriad syrups and mounds of whipped cream. Fresh fruit glistened in crystalline bowls, and Narcissa smiled indulgently as he took a third helping of everything.  
  
By late morning, Draco had unwrapped all the fine cashmere scarves and expensive-looking trinkets that his mother had bought for him. He’d also received a file of eligible pureblood witches from a distant family member who thought they were being subtle. (He set it in the pile of used wrappings without a word.) Narcissa had opened several presents from relatives too, and soon, there was only one package left under the tree.  
  
Draco summoned it with a wave. He blinked in surprise. “Oh, Harry. This one’s for you.”  
  
“What?” He hadn’t expected anything this year – not since Ron and Hermione were waiting to exchange gifts with him until the wedding. And he certainly wasn’t expecting anyone to deliver a gift to _Malfoy Manor_.  
  
However, as soon as he tore into the wrappings, it began to make sense. A stack of Weasley jumpers tumbled into his lap.  
  
Immediately, his eyes began to tear up.  
  
“Right… I forgot she had sent you these.” He scrabbled at his eyes, seeking a tone of voice that sounded casual. “How was that?”  
  
“Harry,” Draco muttered, reaching over to lay a reassuring hand on his knee.  
  
Narcissa smiled hesitantly, trying to read his emotions. “Lucius was…well, let’s say the mail that day was a bit shocking and unpleasant for him, so… I’ll just say that there were quite a few more in the original package, but this was what’s left, I’m afraid.”  
  
Harry, with a hand now covering his eyes completely, began to laugh. “Yes. Well. I can only imagine. I’m sure his facial expressions were priceless.” He grabbed a jumper from the bundle and held it up in front of his face as if analyzing the stitching. “And don’t worry about the missing ones – it looks like, what? Six of them survived? I probably have every color of the rainbow now.”  
  
Narcissa offered a sympathetic smile that he had to turn away from to keep his emotions in check. What was with mothers and their inexplicable ability to make him cry? Rather unfair, given the circumstances.  
  
“Thank you for saving them,” he added with a discreet sniffle. “Really, it means a lot.” 

  


After an interlude of tea and trading Christmas memories, Narcissa left them on their own so she could try and “coax Lucius out of his cave of self-pity.” Harry kind of hoped it would be a fruitless endeavor.  
  
Draco was fiddling with something in the corner, and it was only when he heard a loud crackle that he recognized it as one of the magical gramophones they’d had at Hogwarts. Flitwick had sometimes hauled one out to accompany the frog choir, he recalled with a grin.  
  
Draco rifled through a cabinet of records until he found what he was looking for and set it spinning with a pop. Music swirled throughout the room, and he glanced up at Harry with an uncharacteristically shy smile.  
  
Which was promptly replaced by a scowl when Harry sputtered disbelievingly, “Is this the Nutcracker? I thought you hadn’t heard of Muggle things?”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. “Don’t be stupid, Potter – The Nutcracker was written by wizards. Obviously.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened in confusion. “What are you talking about? This is a big thing in Muggle society! They have ballets and-”  
  
Draco stopped in front of Harry and pulled him to his feet as he cut off his reply. “Yes. It’s a _ballet_ about a girl being _reducio_-ed and protected by an enchanted nutcracker. Does that not scream of _magic_ to you?”  
  
“Just because it mentions _magic_, doesn’t mean it was based on actual wizard-”  
  
“Harry,” Draco interrupted with a long-suffering sigh. “Will you just dance with me, you big idiot?”  
  
Harry swallowed his defenses as a flush of warmth ran through him. “Oh. Right.”  
  
_He was clearly still bad at this whole ‘boyfriend’ thing_.  
  
He offered his hand and Draco took it, pulling him in close to rest his other hand on Harry’s waist and guide him into the steps. His bearing was so smooth and graceful that Harry could only watch in rapt fascination and blush profusely every time he stumbled or stepped on Draco’s foot.  
  
“Where did you learn to dance?” he asked eventually – because it was either that or give into the lust gathering in his core at feeling Draco against him.  
  
The blonde smirked. “Why, you admit you need some lessons?”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “No, you twit. Because you’re actually fairly good. Kind of. I mean, compared to what one might expect…”  
  
Draco twirled and dipped him with an altogether _showy_ flourish. “Was that a compliment, good sir?” He met Harry’s eyes with a grin. “And I took lessons. Obviously. It’s one of those stuffy pureblood things.”  
  
“Of course. How could I be so _common_ as not to know that?”  
  
“You are rather common, aren’t you?” Draco teased, tugging a bit at the Weasley jumper Harry had pulled on over his shirt.  
  
“_Prat_.”  
  
Draco smiled, and the song descended its iconic melody of the sugar plum fairies. “Merlin, this was how it all started, wasn’t it?” he said after a long moment. “You dancing with me at Halloween.”  
  
Harry rested a chin on Draco’s shoulder as they continued to sway. “I mean, not quite how it _started_, but certainly a big step along the way.”  
  
“I’ve been wanting to dance with you again,” Draco admitted in a hushed tone.  
  
Harry shivered. Then, he suddenly remembered what was in his pocket, and a flare of nervousness spread through him.  
  
“I forgot – I have a gift for you.” He broke away gently.  
  
Draco released him with a curious look. “For me? Harry, you didn’t have to.”  
  
“I wanted to though.”  
  
Draco ran a hand through his hair with sudden apprehension. “Well, _hell_. I believed you when you said you didn’t want anything. Other than my persistent help in planning your best friend’s stag night.”  
  
Harry laughed, though he was still buzzing with nerves. “And an all-expenses paid vacation to Wiltshire, don’t forget.”  
  
The man’s lips curled into a lopsided smile. “Merlin, for our next vacation, remind me to just book a hotel.”  
  
Harry chuckled, then took a deep breath. He drew a small gift from his pocket.  
  
Draco took it questioningly and unwrapped it with slow, delicate movements. His eyes widened as they fell upon the silver band. “Harry…are you-”  
  
Harry read the expression on his face and remembered their conversation from two days ago. “No! Not _that_,” he said quickly.  
  
“No?”  
  
“I mean, not _yet_.”  
  
If possible, Draco’s brows climbed higher on his forehead. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly.  
  
_Fuck_. Harry had made a right mess of this.  
  
“I couldn’t find the Potter signet ring,” he said by means of explanation. “I looked through old records and tried to find where it had ended up, but I couldn’t in the end. It might have been stolen and pawned for all I know.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “But this was…well, this is the Black family signet – it was Sirius’. I found it in his things. He was my godfather, so I figured that was as close as I was going to get.”  
  
Draco was listening intently, though he still looked rather baffled.  
  
“I want you to have it,” he continued. Then, he took a deep breath, not quite meeting Draco’s eye. “I was hoping…I was hoping that you’d let me wear yours.”  
  
“_Harry_,” Draco breathed.  
  
He cracked open an eye to see understanding dawning in Draco’s gaze. “I mean, you don’t have to!” he added nervously, feeling like an idiot. “Don’t feel pressured or anything. I know I don’t know anything about pureblood Wizarding traditions, and maybe that’s horribly impolite to ask, but-”  
  
“Harry.” Draco raised a hand to stop him. “Harry, _yes_. It’s fine. I’d…I’d like that.”  
  
He braced his palms on Harry’s cheeks, and he looked like he really meant it. His eyes were all soft and glowing, and he was smiling like Harry had done something exasperating and yet incredibly sweet. He had seen that look before.  
  
Draco thumbed under his collar and drew out the chain. He toyed with the ring for a moment consideringly. “You mean you really want-… I mean, even though it’s…”  
  
Harry smiled gently, regaining some of his confidence now that he hadn’t been horribly rejected. “I fell in love with a Malfoy, you know.”  
  
He watched the line of Draco’s throat as he swallowed. Then, slowly, he slipped off the necklace and held it out to Harry.  
  
Harry took it with a slightly trembling palm and slid it around his own neck. It fell with a clunk to the middle of his sternum, and the warmth of the chain – _Draco’s_ warmth – made his heart feel suddenly and quite completely overfull.  
  
He drew a chain from his pocket and slid the Black family ring onto it. Draco took the necklace from him then, and, eyes never leaving his, clipped it behind his head with practiced movements.  
  
His hand strayed to the ring after that, and Draco stepped forward into his space, murmuring, “There. It’s like I’m carrying you with me now.”  
  
And Harry’s chest swelled with emotion, because that was just exactly what he had meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to this monster of a chapter - if I've learned anything through writing this fic, it's that concision is NOT my strength haha. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this festive chapter despite the dawning of April. 
> 
> Like I mentioned in the opening author's note, my boyfriend wrote a parody chapter of this before he read the actual one, so you should check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479288) (he's gotten his own AO3 account since last time!) Trust me, you won't regret it. Willy Wonka appears and everything!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Hope you're staying safe out there.  
xoxo


	35. Phase One: The Kidnapping

The rest of the evening had gone by without incident – Lucius had decided to remain in self-isolation until the end – and after their roasted goose dinner, they had returned to Hogwarts in a pleasant state of exhaustion. Back in the room, Draco had dramatically faceplanted onto Harry’s bed – though, at this point, he might as well start calling it their _shared_ bed – as if to physically demonstrate his relief at being home.  
  
And it did feel like home. More so, perhaps, than even his return at the beginning of term.  
  
Harry dropped their bags on the chair, and without further ado, tumbled onto the bed next to Draco. They could unpack later. For now, he just wanted to enjoy this warmth that was spreading through his chest. 

  


The next morning at breakfast, Minerva eyed Harry with a shrewd sort of amusement as she bid them hello. “Harry! Mister Malfoy. As I did not see either of you the past few days, I trust you had a nice holiday?”  
  
Harry’s knife slipped and got jam all over his trousers. “Shi-”  
  
“Yes, we spent Christmas at the Manor,” Draco said loudly over Harry’s fumbling.  
  
Minerva’s lips twitched. “Yes, I expect you did.” She took a sip of tea. “Did you have a pleasant time? Harry, let me get that.” She spelled away the stain that Harry had been scrubbing with his napkin and using as an excuse to hide his face.  
  
He cleared his throat. “Err, thanks. Yes, uh, it was fine. In the end.”  
  
She took another sip of tea, looking self-satisfied. “Not the end of the world, after all?”  
  
Draco glanced between them in confusion.  
  
Harry took a large bit of toast to hide his blush. “I guess not,” he mumbled. He avoided Draco’s suspicious gaze. “How was your holiday, Minerva?”  
  
She smiled, less coy this time. “Oh, it was lovely as always. The students who remained had a rousing tournament of wizard chess, and I got to play their champion. The elves outdid themselves with the feast, of course, and even the portraits had a Christmas party of sorts in Sir Cadogan’s frame. Though, I had to break it up when the Lady was leaving the door to Gryffindor unattended for too long. Altogether, a festive day with no major incidents.”  
  
Harry found himself smiling – it was the most Minerva-like way of saying she’d had a lot of fun.  
  
“I’m glad. Maybe I’ll be here for next year’s.”  
  
She merely raised an eyebrow and gave him that look again that said “don’t count on it.” 

  


The following three days were spent finalizing plans and preparing for Ron’s stag night party, which would be taking place on the 29th into the 30th so that he would have “a full day of recovery time” before the wedding. Harry’s job, as he saw it, was to make sure he’d need it.  
  
On the afternoon of the party, Harry and Draco arrived at the plant shop where Ron and Neville were and snuck in the back. They had needed a good location for The Kidnapping to take place, and Neville had recommended this inconspicuous little plant shop in Hogsmeade where he knew the owner wouldn’t mind. Draco had assured him that every good stag night needed a kidnapping – and Ron would be aggrieved and disappointed if he received anything less.  
  
The next step had involved Neville plotting with Molly to send Ron out for more greens for the wedding bouquets, which he was only too happy to escape the house to do. And so, the trap was set.  
  
“You ready?” Draco asked, readjusting his mask.  
  
Harry fought to hold in a laugh. He had somehow convinced Draco to wear a ridiculously-patterned bodysuit with him – arguing that there were serious consequences to kidnapping an Auror if he thought he was in actual danger. So they were dressed like bandits…but _colorful_ bandits.  
  
  
  
“I’m ready,” Harry whispered, shimmying his own mask into place. “Do you think he suspects?”  
  
“I doubt it. We told him seven o’clock, and it’s not even four.”  
  
Harry slipped his glasses on over top of his mask, and Draco hissed “what are you doing?” at him.  
  
He shrugged. “Well, he’s going to suspect who I am anyway, I’d hope. And this decreases my chance of getting cursed.”  
  
Draco sighed dramatically, muttering something like “what was the point of all this then?” – plucking at the garish material on his chest with disdain – and slid to glance through the door into the main shop.  
  
Merlin, watching him move in a bodysuit was like liquid grace, and he heartily commended himself for his own brilliance.  
  
Draco looked back at Harry and held up three fingers. Then, two. One.  
  
They leapt through the door just as Ron and Neville were meandering past the opening. Ron shrieked, whipping out his wand, but Harry was already disarming him while Draco sent ropes to bind him. The redhead fell in a tangled heap to the ground, grunting, “what the-” and a delayed and confused “-Harry?”  
  
Draco crouched down and tested the restraints with a fuchsia-gloved hand. He smirked broadly then, his mouth the only thing visible under the mask, and pronounced: “The party waits for no one!”  
  
Which made Harry cackle, because he had told Draco _specifically_ not to use that embarrassing line. He threw a stunner at Ron.  
  
He cast _nox_ on the room.

  


By the time Harry had unbound and disenchanted Ron, he had changed out of his patterned, neon bodysuit and gathered Seamus, Dean, and Neville around him for a friendly awakening.  
  
Ron came to with a grunt – he scrambled into a sitting position and blinked a few times. “Blimey, Harry! Give a bloke some warning next time.” Though, as he said it, his face broke into a lop-sided grin.  
  
Okay, so maybe Draco had been right, and he’d enjoyed it.  
  
Dean gave him a hand up, and Ron laughed and pulled him into a hug. He went around the circle, drawing Seamus and then Neville in and slapping them on the back. Then, he began looking around the large, empty room.  
  
“Where are we, mate?” He stopped and glanced at Harry in confusion. “And what happened to Draco?”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”  
  
Ron gave him a wry look. “Harry. You expect me to believe that a kidnapping was _your_ idea? Total Slytherin move. Besides, I could recognize his voice back there. So where’d he go?”  
  
Harry swallowed. “Well, uh, he’s still changing in back, I think. He thought you wouldn’t…well, he was planning to leave, because he didn’t want to _intrude_.”  
  
Ron smiled and glanced at the others. “I don’t mind – do you guys? I mean, if he helped plan this, I’d feel bad if he missed it all.”  
  
Dean shrugged, and Neville spoke up, “You do realize we work together already? I see him all the time anyway – he’s actually rather good friends with my wife.”  
  
“And I’ve been _dying_ to see how you two are together, after that article,” Seamus added with a grin. “I mean, I never would’ve guessed it in school.”  
  
Harry laughed. He caught Ron’s eye, and the gentle encouragement there made his chest feel tight. His friends were far too kind. It was a lot to live up to.  
  
“Alright, I’ll go see if he’s still here,” he said – grinning like an idiot – and jogged towards the side door. He found Draco in the bathroom, still primping his hair back to its normal shape after being crimped in a mask.  
  
The blonde looked up in surprise. “Harry? What happened? Did something go wrong already?”  
  
“Already?” Harry smirked. “So little faith. No, you prat – Ron wants you to join us.”  
  
Draco’s eyes widened. He tilted his head in confusion and seemed to consider that for a few beats. “Wait…_what?_”  
  
Harry stepped into his space. “He figured that you had helped plan all this-” he brushed a strand of hair out of Draco’s eye, “-and wants you to come enjoy it with us.”  
  
Draco staggered back, seeming both pleased and upset. “I-I can’t,” he said. “I hardly know Ron – why would he want _me_ there? I’ll just bring back terrible memories and ruin things and-”  
  
Harry sighed, grabbing his wrists. “You won’t ruin anything. Ron’s over all that. He knows you’ve changed, and he wants you there.” He smiled, tentatively. “Will you begrudge the man of the hour his wish?”  
  
Draco seemed to consider that. Harry could practically see his inner thoughts duking it out: his propriety warring with his self-loathing.  
  
“I could…chaperone,” he said slowly, after several seconds had gone by. He chewed on his bottom lip. “You five might get out of control – especially with the amount of stops we’ve planned – and end up passing out somewhere and missing the rest, which would waste all our efforts, and…” He was clearly convincing himself of the logical importance of this new role.  
  
Harry just watched as he talked himself into it. Someday, he figured, Draco would get to the point where he no longer needed to make excuses. But for now, this was enough.  
  
“Come on,” he said.  
  
They headed back inside, and Harry was pleased to see that the others had gotten geared up in the meantime. Dean tossed him a plastic blaster and grinned.  
  
Seamus glanced up and whistled. “There he is – _lover boy!_ Decided to come and play with us, did you?”  
  
Draco immediately flushed, and tried to disguise it by running a splayed hand over his face. “Shut it, Finnigan,” he muttered.  
  
But the jab was weak, and besides – knowing what they all knew from the article, there was no way any of them were going to be intimidated by Draco anymore.  
  
“Aww, he’s embarrassed!” Seamus crowed, slinging an arm around his neck and scruffing his hair. Draco endured it with a tight jaw and severely furrowed brow. He stumbled away with hair sticking up in all directions – which Harry knew he _hated_, but personally, thought quite adorable.  
  
“Watch it,” Draco grumbled, trying to paw it back into place, “I’m your chaperone tonight. I could leave you in a ditch.”  
  
Seamus raised an eyebrow. “Chaperone? I don’t need a chaperone.” He glanced at Ron with a grin, “How ‘bout you, mate? Did you hire him?”  
  
Ron laughed and loaded his weapon. “Hell no. But we do need a sixth player to even up the teams.”  
  
Draco scowled. “No – absolutely not. I’m not playing.”  
  
“Still a bit of a prat, isn’t he?” Dean laughed. “Scared of losing.”  
  
Neville smiled sweetly, though there was mischief in his eyes. “Come on Draco, it’ll be fun.”  
  
“No. No way. I’m staying right here on the sidelines.” And to prove his point, he slouched against the wall and looked pointedly in the other direction.  
  
Which was precisely when he was hit with a bursting potion bullet.  
  
Draco yelped in outrage as the head of a giraffe sprouted from his shoulder where it struck. He stared in horror at it for several seconds before his eyes snapped up, and he growled, “Who the _fuck_-…”  
  
And his gaze landed, of course, on Harry – who was reloading his gun with a grin.  
  
“All’s fair in love and war,” he said cheerfully, and then he shot Draco again.  
  
“That’s it,” Draco snarled, clutching at his stomach, which was now emitting bursts of flashing light. “I’m going to _kill_ you, Potter!” And he was dashing to the bag of scattered weapons and ammo and loading one as fast as he could.  
  
“Me-Seamus-Neville versus Ron-Draco-Dean! Go!” Harry shouted, laughing as he retreated and casting shields as he went. Despite their newly intimate and loving relationship, Draco was still painfully easy to provoke.  
  
His smugness faded, however, as the blonde charged after him. It wasn’t until that moment when Harry realized he had never really seen Draco _run_ before. Not seriously. And that fucker was _fast_.  
  
“Shit,” he screeched as he dive-rolled out of the way. In his periphery, he could see the others shooting at each other and casting obstacles in their line of fire. But he didn’t have time to take it in or strategize, as he needed 100% of his focus to evade the next series of shots that Draco fired at him.  
  
He blocked the first, shot the second out of the air, then threw up an instinctive shield charm when yet another zoomed at his face.  
  
The potion in the bullet splattered across the ground, and slimy tentacles erupted where the droplets fell. Harry and Draco blinked at each other for a moment in surprise. Then, Draco burst into action – grinning and leaping forward over the tentacles, while Harry scrambled to his feet and took off again.  
  
“Stop chasing me!” he yelled over his shoulder, dodging a sneaky shot from Dean as he ran. But Draco kept pursuing him – single-mindedly – with narrowed eyes and that infuriating smirk of his. And part of Harry thrilled at the thought that he wouldn’t stop – not now, not ever. As if it was fundamental to his own survival.  
  
“I’ll save you, Harry!” Neville cried, stepping into Draco’s path – which was clearly a mistake, as he went down in a puff of spontaneous feathers.  
  
Fuck, Harry’s legs were aching. He could only keep running for so long. He dashed around Seamus, who was cornering Dean with a cackle of glee, and ran almost headlong into Ron.  
  
“Ron, help!” Harry shouted, almost hysterical with adrenaline and laughter.  
  
Ron grinned and aimed his gun over Harry’s shoulder. “Sure, mate.”  
  
Harry flipped around to see how close Draco was when he felt a blast in his side. “What the-…” His legs began to bend like they were jelly, and he cursed as he fell to the ground.  
  
“Ron?” he squawked in betrayal. His own _best friend_-  
  
Ron maintained his easy smile as he looked down at him, reloading. “Sorry Harry. But I’m not on your team.” He quirked a brow and turned to hunt someone else. “Which you should really know – you chose them yourself!”  
  
Harry groaned at his foolish mistake – just as Draco caught up with him and prevented him from rising with a foot planted firmly on his chest. Harry thumped back onto the floor, breath knocked out of him.  
  
  
  
Draco’s hair was wild, and he was breathing heavily – also, his shoulder was still a giraffe. But even so, he managed to grin victoriously as he aimed his gun at Harry’s heart.  
  
“No escape now, Scarhead,” he managed, gasping between syllables. He prodded Harry’s chest with the muzzle. “I told you, I’d fucking kill you.”  
  
Then he shot, and the resounding burst of sound and streamers was a merciful distraction from the fact that Harry was terribly turned on by the display.  
  
_Hell. He must definitely be a masochist_.  
  
Draco, though, seemed satisfied with his revenge, and he turned and ran off to chase Seamus next. Harry simply took several moments to lay amidst the wreckage, reveling in the strange rush of being bested by someone and letting it happen.  
  
But then, sooner than later, he heard Neville calling for his help, and with an exasperated grin, finally rolled to his feet.  
  
Back to the game. 

  


They played for a few hours until everyone was tired and loose and had some sort of horrible magical deformity. Ron slung an arm around his shoulder – which was still bubbling and green – as they packed up the guns and passed around healing potions.  
  
“Damn, George really outdid himself with these! What are they going to be called?”  
  
“Master Blasters, I think.” Harry laughed, knowing full well that Ron wouldn’t catch the reference. True to his expectation, Ron only nodded obliviously.  
  
Harry had helped George with the concept and title several years back – after Arthur had gotten ahold of some water guns and charmed them behind Molly’s back. George had been working out the kinks since then and making a wide array of magical “bullets” of different effects, and they were finally almost ready to be sold.  
  
But as they hadn’t been officially released yet, this event was also secretly doubling as a beta test. Harry and Draco had promised George detailed feedback afterwards in exchange for the guns – though they all solidly agreed that Ron didn’t have to know that.  
  
They finished packing up and _finite_-ing soon enough, and then the group Apparated to their next stop – with Harry taking Ron by side-along. When the squeezing, popping sensation faded, Ron opened his eyes and blinked concernedly at the bar name. In retro, orange letters – and hanging at a slight angle – it read: _KARAOKE KIM’S_.  
  
He glanced up and down the bustling street for another locale he might have missed. “Uhh, you sure we got the right place, mate?”  
  
Harry caught Draco’s eye and smirked. “Oh yeah. This place is great, trust me.” He pushed Ron through the door in front of him.  
  
Inside, a dingy bar stretched down a whole side of the room, and the other half was populated with stained, velvet seats and a small, elevated stage. It wasn’t too busy yet, though Draco had assured him that it would pick up as the night wore on.  
  
Ron glanced over his surroundings leerily as they ushered him into a seat at the bar. “And what kind of place is this exactly?” he asked.  
  
“Just a bar,” Draco said, oozing false reassurance. “They’re known for their great selection of drinks.”  
  
“I haven’t heard of them,” Ron grumbled suspiciously, while Dean slid them all a round of beers as they were poured.  
  
He began to relax, however, after several drinks and half a dozen hilarious stories from Seamus about working in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Seamus had joined up with the Ministry last year, citing that he had caused enough “accidents and catastrophes” himself over the years, that he had actually become fairly familiar with all the ways magic often went wrong. However, if his stories were anything to go by, his propensity for disaster by no means ended with graduation.  
  
“And then,” Dean cut in, “he comes home with his pockets smoking! Doesn’t even acknowledge it, doesn’t say anything by way of explanation – just hangs up his coat on the rack and pours himself some cereal. At _four_ in the morning!”  
  
Seamus grinned. “Aww, you love that I lead a more exciting life than you over in the Portkey Office!”  
  
“Portkeys are actually _very_ exciting, thank you. When mishandled, they can take you to unexpected and alarming places!” Dean finished his drink and set it on the counter with a clack. He proceeded to launch into a story about a time he’d ended up in an underwater Wizarding colony in the Pacific Ocean by mistake.  
  
After glancing at the empty glasses along the line, Draco caught Harry’s eye and winked. “I’ll grab us another round, I think.”  
  
He came back several minutes later, floating a collage of eye-catching cocktails to the group. Some bubbled or steamed in vibrant colors, some whispered ominously – all came with a small, toothpick umbrella.  
  
“What’ve you got there?” Ron asked.  
  
“Some of those specialty drinks I mentioned,” Draco responded. He smiled and levitated them all within Ron’s reach. “Well? Groom’s choice, as they say.”  
  
Ron stared at the selection mistrustfully for a long moment. But either the beer had worn down his inhibitions, or he really was eager for a crazy night, because he eventually grabbed the frothy blue drink directly in front of him and took a large sip.  
  
Seamus whooped and grabbed a toxic yellow one from the air. Dean, Neville, and Harry followed suit and chose theirs. With his cordial smile slipping into a smirk, Draco took the last glass in his delicate fingers. “Cheers,” he murmured over the rim.  
  
But everyone knew better than to drink yet – they wanted to enjoy Ron’s reaction first.  
  
It took several moments for the change to come across him, beginning with a small hum in his throat that he tried to clear away with confusion. Then a sway in his seat, a furrowing of his brows.  
  
“What did you say’s in this drink?” He glanced around and noticed his friends’ gleeful stares.  
  
“I didn’t,” Draco replied smoothly.  
  
Ron’s expression flattened, and his eyes fell on Harry. “Oi, what’ve you lot-…_I’VE GOT A CAULDRON_-”  
  
Ron slapped a hand over his mouth which had spontaneously broken into song. He slammed down the drink and clenched his jaw too, but it did nothing to stem the words that were still spilling from him unbidden.  
  
“_Full of hot. Strong. Love_,” he gritted out, clearly trying to restrain himself.  
  
Seamus burst out laughing, just as Draco chimed in, “I’m so glad he chose the Celestina Warbeck one, I can’t even tell you. I didn’t even have to _offer_ it to him.”  
  
Ron’s eyes were wide and confused as he shot to his feet.  
  
“_And it’s bubbling for youuuu_-” he sang on, starting to walk forward, shaking his head all the while. “_Say_ incendio, _but that spell’s not hot_-”  
  
The other bar’s patrons began to turn and cheer as the singing continued and began to grow in volume.  
  
“_As my special witch’s brew!_”  
  
Realizing where this was going, Ron flipped around to glower at them, his ears turning pink. “I hate you all- _Don’t you be afraid, come and take a sip!_” His feet dragged him into the lounge area, and he grabbed onto the handrail to try and stop himself. Unfortunately for him, his legs kept going – and after several seconds of desperate scrabbling, he lost his grip and was carried off.  
  
“_Of this steamy. Tasty. Treat_.”  
  
Now he was on the stage, and people were cheering and catcalling as his hips moved in a sensual sway. Harry whistled and clapped as loudly as he could, though it was hard to be heard over Seamus’ yipping and cries of “get some!”  
  
He also noted that Draco looked absolutely delighted.  
  
“_What’s in my cauldron full of hot, strong love_-” Ron sang, punctuating the last three words with a quite unwilling hair flip, “_Will make your life complete!_”  
  
  
  
During the pause for the invisible chorus, he leapt from the stage and started back towards the bar, shouting, “I’m going to get you guys back for this, just wait-” But then, as his song started back up, his legs did a quick spin and flourish and hauled him back to the stage even faster than he had left.  
  
“_I’ve got a cauldron full of hot, strong love that’s about to be unfurled_…”  
  
He continued his song, strutting around the stage like Celestina herself, and making veiled threats at every pause in the lyrics until it came to a merciful end with him falling to his knees and spreading his arms wide.  
  
“_Drink from my cauldron full of hot, strong love. It’s all the magic you’ll ever need!_”  
  
Harry was pretty sure Draco was crying, he was laughing so hard. As it was, his own face was hurting from smiling so much.  
  
They watched as Ron panted for several seconds, clearly unmoved by the standing ovation he was receiving from the drunken patrons all around them. Then, as he finally caught his breath, his gaze fell on them across the room.  
  
Harry knew by the flicker of mischief in those eyes that he was screwed. His time had run out. This whole plan to embarrass Ron, after all, had been contingent on the fact they would all be subsequently humiliated in turn.  
  
Such was stag night.  
  
But he hadn’t been expecting what Ron did next. Instead of running over and forcing them to drink their “karaoke cocktails” – for that’s what they were called – he remained standing on the stage and drew out his wand to cast a _sonorous_ charm.  
  
“Hey there, how’s everyone doing tonight?” His voice echoed through the small space, gaining everyone’s attention. “I, for one, am a bit tired now – as you can probably imagine.” He chuckled, and there was a rumble of laughter around the bar.  
  
“What’s he doing?” Harry hissed at Draco, who merely gave him a one-shouldered shrug and watched with a smirk.  
  
“I’m actually here tonight to celebrate. See, I’m marrying the love of my life in two days, and my friends were kind enough to put together this lovely stag night for me. They really went all out. And I especially wanted to thank my best friend, who set it all up – Harry. _Harry Potter_.”  
  
Harry’s eyes went wide.  
  
_Shit_. He knew where this was going now.  
  
“That’s right, _Harry Potter_ – the best friend anyone could wish for. _Harry Potter_, known for his bravery and kindness all around the world-” Already, people were catching sight of him in the crowd and pointing. “_Harry Potter_, who’s great at _everything_ he does. Which is lucky for you folks, because tonight, he’s also going to bless us with a performance.”  
  
Ron’s eyes fell on him again with a cheeky grin, and he could only squeeze his eyes shut in mortification as the man clinched it.  
  
“Harry. This next one is _you_.”  
  
The bar erupted into cheering – with people banging their glasses on the table and whooping in excitement. Harry could feel that his face was already bright red.  
  
Ron strolled back over to join them, and Seamus was already chanting “drink, drink, drink!” in his ear, while Dean laughed into his arm. Neville, who was looking a bit tipsy, pulled Ron into a congratulatory hug when he got close enough, saying “nice moves!”  
  
Harry swiveled to face Draco. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” he accused.  
  
Draco laughed and stretched languidly in his seat. “I did consider all the possible outcomes, yes.”  
  
“Oi, Harry!” Ron called. “Hurry up.”  
  
Harry turned back to face him and his shit-eating grin. “You’re a _git_, and you’re being demoted to ‘second best friend’ after Hermione.”  
  
Ron feigned injury to his heart and then broke out in a laugh. “I’ll learn to live with it. Now drink up.”  
  
With great trepidation, and a swell of excitement from the crowd, Harry raised the glass of ominous whispers to his mouth. He took a sip. And then another. It was actually pretty fruity and delicious, so partway through his third sip, he decided – _fuck it_ – he was going to just chug the rest.  
  
Seamus whistled loudly in his ear. “_Damn_, Harry!”  
  
He felt a warm rush of magic flow through him in an instant, and then he was shoving his empty glass imperiously at Draco and strutting towards the stage. Before he got there though, his feet snapped to a stop. His head jerked to the side, and he looked over his shoulder at the crowd dramatically.  
  
_Oh no.  
  
What kind of band had possessed him exactly?_  
  
“_Submit yourselves to the darkness_,” he whispered – and, ultimately, that really _did_ answer his question.  
  
But that had clearly been the calm before the storm in this song, he discovered, as his body flew into motion. He vaulted over the handrail to the lounge and started running through the benches as he screeched, “_DAAAARKNESSSSS_,” in an unending wail.  
  
“_DAAAAAAAAAAARRKNEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS!_”  
  
He broke into a coughing fit when he could finally get a breath in edgewise.  
  
There was no time to rest though, because then his feet were dragging him up onto a velvet bench and jumping him up and down while he headbanged to the invisible instrumentals. In the distance, he could hear the pop of Apparition, and he just knew that reporters were arriving to document the scene.  
  
_Fuck_. Ron was going to regret this later.  
  
His hands flew through the air in some ridiculous air-guitar riff, and one particularly emphatic motion sent his glasses flying off his face too. He didn’t have time to do anything about it though, as he was once again racing around the room – this time with his hand out for high-fives that everyone was suddenly clamoring to give him.  
  
“That’s him! That’s the Boy Who Lived!” someone was yelling excitedly.  
  
The song ended after several more minutes of indistinct wailing and far more acrobatic feats than lyrics. As the magical compulsions faded from his body, Harry felt himself collapsing by the bar in exhaustion to the sound of thunderous applause.  
  
A set of strong hands caught him as he fell. “Well, now you know at least one song by Wyvern Trash.”  
  
Draco chuckled as he slid Harry’s glasses back onto his face.  
  
Harry looked up at him incredulously. “_That’s_ Wyvern Trash? _That’s_ what you listen to?!”  
  
Draco grinned and pulled him into a kiss instead of answering. Harry could hear the flash of several cameras go off, but for once, he was unconcerned. He melted into the kiss, loving the steady feel of Draco’s hips under his palms – drawing back only when he when was completely out of breath.  
  
“Hey Draco,” he muttered as a small smile tugged at his lips, “Guess who’s up next?”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello.  
I hope you're enjoying Ron's stag party as much as I am - part two to come next week! :D  
Also, yes, quarantine is giving me far too much time to illustrate this story.
> 
> The song lyrics for Warbeck's "Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" in this chapter can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWdOo5YHUR0). Who knew that Universal had an actual Celestina Warbeck singer/actress who puts on shows at the theme parks? 
> 
> I've also gone through and cleaned up some typos throughout my story in various chapters, so if you noticed them before, I am terribly sorry and feel rightfully ashamed. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	36. Game of Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w: veritaserum usage (so if people being forced to say things they might not want to say makes you uncomfortable, be aware of that)

Draco’s performance really was an event to be remembered. After Harry had practically forced a cocktail down his throat, Draco had broken out into a twangy folk song about mountain trolls decimating his crop of wheezeberries, while limping woefully about the stage. He had finished the song on a tremulous note, clutching his heart as if in crushed by the unfairness of it all, when an acute awareness seemed to return to him.  
  
Draco had stiffened, eyes flitting open in confusion, while an unmistakable flush had pinkened his cheeks. He had shot to his feet, brushing off his knees with a look of disgust, and desperately ignored the audience that was cheering for him nearly as loudly as they had for Ron.  
  
Harry, of course, had imitated his singing relentlessly for the next half hour, drawing out his syllables in a way that a posh person would never normally do (and Draco was mortified that he, specifically, had done).  
  
Seamus had drunk himself into a particularly risqué pop song that he attempted to twerk to, while Dean and Neville had been dragged into a classical duet thereafter. People must have been spreading the word, because the bar became more and more crowded as the night went on – with everyone no doubt trying to catch a glimpse of the famed Harry Potter and entourage. But that, thankfully, also meant that more overconfident witches and wizards were ordering karaoke cocktails and making total fools of themselves on the stage.  
  
By the time they left, Harry was feeling less alone in his humiliation, and at least much better off than Ron – whom, in his drunken, less inhibited state, they had to drag away from a small group of giggling veela.  
  
“C’mon, mate! I’m still having fun! Why d’we have to leave so shoon-…_soon?_”  
  
Harry, quite buzzed himself, laughed as he wrapped an arm around Ron’s shoulders. “We aren’t going home just yet! The night is still young, my friend! My comrade! My…” he struggled to think of another title, “...my ginger-mate?”  
  
To which, Draco – who’d had a fair bit to drink, but still fancied himself a “chaperone” – could only snort in amusement.  
  
They Apparated away, and by some miracle, none of them got splinched. 

  


Ron took several moments to piece it together when they arrived. First, he stumbled on the grass and glanced around the wide-open space in confusion. Then, his eyes caught sight of the grey stone walls. The red and white flags draping the turrets. The ivy curling majestically up the battlements.  
  
“Harry,” he whispered. “Are we in…are we in the _English National Quidditch Stadium?_” He looked a little faint.  
  
Harry grinned. “Why yes, Ron. We are indeed.”  
  
“Holy-…I mean, _bloody hell_ – how’d you manage it? This place has some of the most intense wards and restrictions-” He noticed Dean summoning some brooms from the far side of the field, and his voice went up an octave, “-and are we actually _playing Quidditch here?!_”  
  
His hands were quivering with excitement as he reached hesitantly for his broom.  
  
Harry laughed. “_Strip_ Quidditch specifically, yeah.” He glanced at Draco. “And as for how – _someone_ here convinced me to exploit my status as a war hero to rent the pitch for a night. It was stupidly easy, to be honest; I was surprised.”  
  
And though he really hated using his name like that, the look on Ron’s face was definitely making it worth it. Besides – it wasn’t like he did it often.  
  
“This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, mate,” Ron murmured, dreamlike. “I might have to kiss you.”  
  
“Oi!” Draco stepped protectively in front of Harry, looking harangued. The others burst into giggles, while Ron’s grin only widened.  
  
“You too, mate! You got him to do it – I might have to kiss you too!”  
  
Draco took a quick step back at that, looking vaguely green, which only spurred more laughter.  
  
“Alright,” Seamus announced, “who’s ready to play some Quidditch?”  
  
They each grabbed their broom – which Harry had dropped off earlier, making sure to bring one for Ron too – and took off into the air.  
  
Ron wobbled perilously on his as he lifted off – either from nerves or from alcohol – but managed to keep his seat as they regrouped in a messy circle above. “So what rules are we using?” he asked giddily.  
  
“Chasers three on three,” Draco announced. “Every time you get a goal, everyone on the opposite team loses a piece of clothing.”  
  
“But I haven’t got that many clothes on!” Neville protested. “Just a shirt and trousers.”  
  
“And pants, I hope,” Seamus cut in with a laugh.  
  
Neville blushed. “Yeah, I’ve got some of those too.”  
  
“Well, if you don’t want to lose them, you best get on the winning team,” Draco said with a smirk. “Shall we stick with the ones from earlier?”  
  
Neville glanced between Harry and Seamus and seemed content with this decision. “Sure, why not?”  
  
Harry grimaced.  
  
Draco looked over his own team and smiled. He was clearly calculating everyone’s experience like Harry was, and coming up smug due Dean’s skill as a chaser and his own speed as a seeker. Even with Ron completely drunk, they were a solid pair. Whereas, with Harry’s team, Neville had never really gotten into Quidditch, and Seamus wasn’t as good as Dean.  
  
It would ultimately come down to him.  
  
Draco caught Harry’s eye and quirked a brow in challenge. He lifted his wand and spelled open the Quidditch box he’d brought, summoning the quaffle. In that moment, he really looked every bit the referee as he held it aloft and said, “Ready? Go!”  
  
And then it was in the air, and they were all zooming after it. Harry had never played chaser in an official game, though he’d led enough practices as the team captain to become decent at it. After a scramble with Dean, he emerged victorious, swooping out of everyone’s way towards the goal with the quaffle. He threw, and it sailed through the ring with ease.  
  
_I’ve still got it_, he thought with a rush of relief. _This might not be so hard after all_.  
  
“C’mon lads!” Harry shouted jovially. “Shirts off!”  
  
Dean shrugged his off with a laugh, as Seamus whistled flirtatiously.  
  
Draco, on the other hand, seemed rather put out by this bad start. He glared at Harry, mouth a hard line as he undid all his buttons and deftly yanked off the sleeves. He didn’t break eye contact as he slid it from his shoulders, nor when he dropped it carelessly to the pitch below.  
  
_Was it getting warmer out here?_ Harry swallowed several times, readjusting his seat. Fuck, what right did Draco have to look so hot on a broom? Let alone _shirtless_.  
  
It didn’t help that his necklace glistened in the stadium lights, and Harry could see the faint outlines of his scars bisecting his chest. It made him want to knock Draco off out of the air and tussle.  
  
“Are…are you sure this is alright?” Ron whined, pulling his shirt off while glancing nervously around the pitch. “What if someone comes in and sees?”  
  
“There’s charms,” Harry said. “No one – wizard or Muggle – can come in except us tonight. That was the promise they made.”  
  
That seemed to put him at ease, and he let his shirt tumble to the ground as well. “Okay. Well…next round?”  
  
They reset in the middle, Harry allowing himself a bit of confidence. He had already beat them once – the rest would be easy. 

  


It was not easy.  
  
In that round, Harry had gone for the quaffle again, only to have Dean block him while Draco took it and scored. Seamus had tried in earnest to catch him, but Draco had known better – he had aimed to pass by Neville instead. And Neville…well, he’d made a sort of lunging grab for Draco, but he’d missed, and it nearly cost him his balance on the broom instead.  
  
So Draco’s team had scored. Fine.  
  
He peeled off his shirt and tossed it to the ground without thinking too much about it. Seamus had ditched his with a cheer, and Neville a bit more modestly.  
  
“What’s that you got there, Harry?” Seamus asked, flying closer. He realized, with trepidation, that Seamus was gesturing towards his necklace. His _matching_ necklace.  
  
“A promise ring?” he crowed with delight.  
  
Harry’s eyes snapped to Ron, who was staring at the ring he knew Harry had definitely never worn up until this point. Then, he saw Ron looking between him and Draco with a considering look. “You got something you want to tell me, mate?” he asked with a smile.  
  
“No!” Harry shouted at the same time Draco was saying “Just drop it” through clenched teeth. They both were blazing red.  
  
“Ooh, they _are_ promise rings then!” Seamus laughed, flying in figure eights around them. “That’s fuckin’ _adorable!_”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want,” Harry muttered. “Let’s just get back to the game.”  
  
But, he might as well have postponed it, as he lost the next round too and shed the Quidditch gloves he had thankfully thought to bring.  
  
Then the next – his trousers.  
  
And then both of his socks too, because Seamus couldn’t block anyone for shit, and Neville kept veering around on his broom like a sprightly hipogriff.  
  
And because Draco was a merciless twat.  
  
Harry looked down at his pants – the only thing covering him now – and groaned. This was just getting pathetic. His teammates – who hadn’t thought to bring gloves – were a step ahead of him too; they were playing this round already in the nude. And while there were cushion charms on the brooms that would make it less unbearable, it was certainly breaking Harry’s focus to see bare, naked bodies flying by – and somehow, since he couldn’t seem to meet their eyes, he kept fumbling his passes too.  
  
“You losing on purpose, Potter?” Draco taunted as they reset for a new round. “Enjoy the spectatorship?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Harry hissed, desperately trying to ignore the shiver that ran through his body when Draco looked at him like that. The absolute last thing he needed was to get a boner in the air – and right before he was likely going to lose his pants.  
  
Draco chuckled, and – despite Harry’s efforts – the sound went straight to his groin. “You wish.”  
  
He released the quaffle.  
  
Harry dove for it with renewed determination to win – or, at the very least, to prolong the time until he lost.  
  
His hands closed around the ball, and he was thinking that he might just be able to turn this around…  
  
Then, Draco blocked him again. He knocked the quaffle from Harry’s hands, sending in a downward spiral until Dean swooped in to catch it. And Harry tried to go after him, he really did, but Draco had an arm around his waist, and he was halfway across the pitch, and it was sailing through the ring, and-  
  
Fuck, he had lost again.  
  
His body was still taut with competitiveness, but Draco dragged him back against his chest anyway. “You lost, Potter,” he whispered dangerously into his ear. “I beat you fairly and completely.”  
  
Draco’s chest was hot and slick against his back, and it took all of Harry’s restraint not to moan and lean into his hold. As it was, his face was burning.  
  
“Draco, _stop_. I’m already-…” he swallowed, looking away. “And I’m going to have to-…”  
  
He pulled his broom away as the others flew over to join them.  
  
“Yeah, take _that_, Harry!” Ron yelled, oblivious that he barely scored one of the goals.  
  
“You know what that means, mate,” Dean commented with a grin. “Time to join your teammates in their shame.”  
  
Harry caught Draco’s expression hardening into a scowl. Which was odd – he’d been so vainglorious about winning just a minute ago.  
  
“Strip, strip, stip!” Seamus called, while Neville hang back with a permanent blush.  
  
“Alright, alright,” Harry muttered. “I’m getting there, geez.” It wasn’t like the others hadn’t already seen him naked at some point – they had all shared a dorm after all – but he was really hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself in a different way. He got a good handhold on his broom with one hand, while he used the other to slide the fabric down- _fuck_, he was definitely still half-hard-  
  
And then a spell was washing over him, obscuring his privates like a foggy mirror. He glanced up in shock.  
  
Draco’s wand was hanging loose in his hand, and he was looking pointedly in the other direction.  
  
“Ahh, that’s no fair!” Seamus exclaimed. “How come _he_ gets a modesty charm?”  
  
Their eyes came quickly to rest on Draco. “Because _someone’s_ a protective git?” Dean suggested with a laugh.  
  
A muscle ticked in Draco’s jaw. “Because his _boyfriend_ is sitting right here,” he replied coolly.  
  
There was a tense moment of silence that seemed to stretch on and on until Ron finally snorted and said, “Come on, you lot. It’s not like _I’m_ dying to see my best friend’s prick.”  
  
“Speak for yourself!” Seamus joked, and everyone broke into laughter. It eased away the awkwardness, and even Draco seemed to relax a touch as well.  
  
“You think we can move onto the next stop?” Neville asked with a shiver. “I think the warming charms are wearing thin.”  
  
The others agreed, and they all landed to gather their clothes and pack up. Draco landed near Harry as he pulled on his trousers, and he gave the blonde a questioning look.  
  
“You alright?”  
  
His face was solemn as he buttoned up his shirt, and he spared only a short glance in Harry’s direction. “Fine.” 

  


They Apparated back to the Granger-Weasley cottage, which Hermione had preemptively vacated for the night to leave them to their partying. She hadn’t wanted to have a hen do, not really, so she had opted to spend the night hanging out with Ginny at the Burrow instead.  
  
Ron grunted in relief when he saw his own house in front of him. “Thank Merlin,” he mumbled. “I was just thinking I need a butterbeer and a plush couch beneath my bum.”  
  
They all laughed as he let them inside, and – true to his word – Ron plopped down on the couch as soon as everyone had a drink in hand.  
  
“I’ll tell you – this is the best stag night I’ve ever had.”  
  
Harry laughed, settling into an armchair by the fire. “It’s the _only_ one you’ve ever had. And it better stay that way.”  
  
“That’s not true!” Neville cut in, “He came to mine last year!”  
  
“Yeah, but that was just a few drinks at the tavern after supper. Said you had to grade papers in the morning,” Dean said.  
  
“Well, it was true!” Neville took a sip of his drink and shook his head blearily. “You tell ‘im, Harry! Grading’s a _killer_. You and Draco should be on my side for this now.”  
  
Harry glanced around to catch Draco’s eye and noted that he had somehow ended up clear on the other side of the circle. He was sitting on a barstool he must have dragged over from the kitchen when they ran out of armchairs, and he was sipping his drink distractedly.  
  
Harry frowned and turned back to Neville. “Yeah, grading will be the death of me.”  
  
They continued to chatter on about Hogwarts and everyone’s jobs until the fire had burned low, and yet a delirious sort of second wind seemed to be hitting them from the drinks. “Let’s play a game,” Seamus announced. “Like we used to do in the dorms!”  
  
Harry sat up straighter in his chair from where he had sunken in. “Oh yeah. Draco actually brought a game for us.”  
  
He had forgotten until now. It was part of – how had Draco put it? – the phases of a “successful stag night” that he’d laid out. _The Kidnapping. Some engaging physical activity. An embarrassing bar experience. A shocking, grand gesture. A safe place to wind down. And…one last sprinkle of excitement towards the end of the night_.  
  
Harry wasn’t even fully sure of what Draco brought – just that he’d been messing around with his potions a lot this week, and that he’d found something that he thought would make an interesting game. He glanced up at Draco, who was eyeing him cautiously from across the room.  
  
“Oi, is that true, Draco? You brought us a game?” Seamus asked. “Well, out with it!”  
  
“It is,” Draco said slowly, drawing a small pouch from his pocket. “But we don’t have to play it if there’s something else you want to do.”  
  
“Let’s see it!” Ron chimed in. “How do we play?”  
  
Draco’s eyes flickered to Harry, and he seemed reticent to say more. But then, he heaved a sigh and poured a handful of capsules into his palm.  
  
“It doesn’t strictly have a name,” he said, puffing up a little as he looked at the pills. “But these are made from potions I’ve been working on. Some are merely blanks, some are a counter-potion to _veritaserum_ that makes you lie compulsively, and some are the proper antidote. For the game, everyone takes a drop of _veritaserum_ and one of the unknown pills. Then, we ask several questions to the group and try to guess who’s had what.”  
  
“So you’ve done it then?” Ron asked with wide eyes. “You cracked the antidote?”  
  
A shadow of a real smile broke on Draco’s face. “I have.”  
  
“_Damn_. That’s incredible – congratulations! We should definitely play a round now to celebrate.”  
  
Draco flushed in a pleased way, and Harry felt a stab of jealousy go through him. He had _promised_ to tell Harry when he’d finished it. Harry was supposed to have been the first person he told – not _Ron_, not Hermione, not a whole room of his friends who could offer him a compliment and then forget about it entirely.  
  
He caught Draco’s proud gaze rather by accident – and looked away far too quickly.  
  
“Shall we start then?” Neville asked, looking interested.  
  
“Sure,” Draco responded, looking a little subdued. He pulled a vial of clear liquid from his pocket. “First, I’ll administer a drop of the _veritaserum_ to everyone. It’s a very small quantity, so it should just last about ten minutes.”  
  
He started with Ron on that side of the circle, and Harry felt the knot in his stomach tightening with every chin Draco’s fingers brushed over to hold them still for the potion. After an eternity, Draco stood in front of him.  
  
“What?” Harry grumbled, still looking at the floor.  
  
Draco’s fingers caught his chin and tilted it back with a little more force than necessary. Harry met his gaze petulantly, and Draco arched a brow at him. Then, he dripped the potion in and moved onto the next person.  
  
Fuck, he felt like shit. He could have handled that better. _But why was Draco mad at him?_  
  
“Alright, now everyone takes a pill.” He came around a second time, and Harry didn’t even look up as he snatched up a capsule and popped it in his mouth.  
  
When everyone had swallowed, Draco asked, “Okay, how do you all feel?”  
  
“Awful,” Harry muttered before he could stop himself.  
  
_Shit_. He realized he must’ve gotten a blank – he was still completely under the _veritaserum_’s influence.  
  
Ron – who’d answered “pretty good” – gave him a worried glance, and Harry rubbed at his stomach to pretend he’d drank too much.  
  
The other answers were similar, until it got to Neville, who shrieked “Terrible!” and then looked suitably embarrassed. _Okay, so he probably had one of the lying potions_.  
  
“How about you, Draco?” Ron asked coyly, to which the blonde snapped, “Fine. Now let’s go around and ask questions.”  
  
Since Ron had technically just asked something, they looked to Dean. “Alright, hmmm. What to ask? It’s no fun if the questions are too obvious, like which House you were in and such… Which team do you support?”  
  
“Chudley Cannons,” Ron said immediately. _That clinched it – he had definitely gotten the other blank_.  
  
“Appleby Arrows,” Seamus said.  
  
“Hah! You’re lying!” Dean declared. “You only ever follow the Kenmare Kestrels or the Irish National team. You must have gotten the lying potion.”  
  
“Have I?” Seamus countered with a grin.  
  
Dean seemed to realize then, that if he’d gotten the antidote, he could still very well be lying of his own volition. He narrowed his eyes and deflated a bit. “Alright, how about you, Harry? What team?”  
  
“Puddlemere United,” he said honestly, throwing an apologetic look at Ron.  
  
“Neville?”  
  
“I love Quidditch _so much!_ I know all the teams, and I go to every game I can!”  
  
“You can’t even name a single team, can you?”  
  
Neville’s blush served as his answer.  
  
“Alright, moving on. Draco?”  
  
“Wimbourne Wasps,” he said brusquely. “Next question.”  
  
Harry tried to read if it was a lie, but he realized he didn’t actually know which team Draco supported. The realization only irritated him further.  
  
“Okay, okay. What’s everyone’s favorite color?” Seamus asked with a laugh.  
  
“Red,” Harry said.  
  
“Not dark green!” assured Neville.  
  
“Red,” Draco said quickly, and Harry knew then that he was lying.  
  
“Blue” came Ron’s response, and, finally, “turquoise” from Dean.  
  
And then it was his turn to come up with a question.  
  
He could ask something dumb and innocuous like he knew he was supposed to, but already, the game was wearing thin to him. He was tired and irritable, and the _veritaserum_ was making him feel terribly vulnerable. Vulnerable and _defensive_.  
  
Before he could stop himself, he was blurting out the only question he really wanted to know the answer to. “Draco, why are you mad at me?”  
  
The man’s grey eyes shot wide open. “What are you-… Oh, I don’t _know_,” he huffed, expression hardening as the potion forced him to answer, “it’s not like I _care_ whether you strip naked in front of a bunch of other blokes. It’s not like I don’t enjoy watching them _ogle_ you in front of me-”  
  
Harry let out a hissing sound of rage. “How _dare_ you? They’re my _friends_, not some dodgy blokes in a bar. They’re not _ogling_-”  
  
“Finnigan was ogling you,” Draco stated coldly.  
  
To which, Seamus chimed in gleefully, “He’s right – I was!”  
  
“But he ogles _everybody_,” Dean added with a smirk, while his boyfriend nodded and shrugged.  
  
“I _do_ ogle everybody. Nothing personal.”  
  
“Pshh, exactly! So who cares?” Harry continued.  
  
Draco glared at him. “Who cares? _Who cares?_ Certainly not _me_.” He clearly wanted to stop there, but his mouth opened again to speak, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. “And then I definitely _don’t_ come to the realization that I’m being a jealous git and feel terribly guilty about it. It’s not like I’m worried you’ll wake up and realize how much of a clingy _bastard_ I am and _leave_ me for someone better.” He buried his face in his hands, but the potion still wouldn’t let him stop. “It’s not like that would devastate me.”  
  
Harry was quiet for a long moment, feeling quite mortified that he’d brought all this up in front of an audience. And knowing that Draco couldn’t refuse…  
  
“Draco, I-”  
  
His eyes flashed back to Harry’s then, the embarrassment – if anything – making the man even more furious. “Are you happy, Harry? Did you hear everything you wanted to hear? That’s why _I’m_ mad. Now what’s _your_ excuse?”  
  
“I’m mad you didn’t tell me about the potion,” he said at once, then bit his lip in frustration. “Fuck. It sounds so stupid. But you promised you’d tell me first.” He glanced at Ron, who looked distinctly embarrassed for them both. “Not Ron. I’m sorry.”  
  
Draco looked rather taken aback at that. “Oh. You-…oh.” The potion didn’t seem to be allowing him to say what he wanted to, so he fell silent and instead gazed at Harry regretfully.  
  
“You’re both dumb gits, so just kiss and make up already!” Seamus said loudly, startling them both. “Geez, it’s obvious you’re both _obsessed_ with each other. Now get on with it!”  
  
Draco managed to flush even more, his ears pinkening like Ron’s did.  
  
Harry laughed first, and a small smile broke out on Draco’s face. _Merlin, why did this man drive him absolutely mental? Even his friends could recognize it before him_.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, speed it up!” Seamus urged again. “Or are you going to keep flirting like you did on the pitch? Don’t think I didn’t see that!” He heaved a fake sigh of resignation. “_Merlin_, this is exactly what I feared you two would be like, after reading that article.”  
  
Harry laughed even harder and crawled over to sit by Draco. He gave him a quick peck on the lips to satisfy Seamus, who cooed and catcalled them until he was hexed into silence.  
  
“Right,” said Ron, after everyone got it back together. “Well, I think we know who took which potions this round, so why don’t we start a new round?” 

  


The second time went much better. And, by the point in which they had gone through several more successful rounds, most everyone was dancing on the delirious edge of sleep. “I think I’ll just rest my eyes a moment,” Ron muttered, slipping quickly into a loud snore.  
  
“Here, here,” Seamus said, cuddling up next to Dean in one of the large armchairs.  
  
Neville was already long asleep in the other one.  
  
Harry shrugged his shoulder into Draco’s side. “You want to lie down?” he whispered.  
  
Draco blinked sleepily at him and stretched. He snagged a blanket off the couch and threw it over them as they repositioned on the ground. It was cozier than Harry could have imagined a floor ever being.  
  
“Hey Draco?” he whispered again.  
  
Draco’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, rich and dark grey. “Hmm?”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to apologize – to reiterate that he had been a dick earlier and he regretted it. To promise he’d try and communicate better when he was mad. But as he watched Draco drifting off again, he swallowed the excuses and explanations he’d been planning.  
  
Instead, he got straight to the heart of it. The only thing that really mattered:  
  
“Goodnight. I love you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends the stag party...  
Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed the rest of Ron's festivities. All that's left now is the wedding and the epilogue :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope everyone is staying safe.  
xoxo


	37. The Wedding

As luck would have it, Ron needed the full day after to recover fully from their previous activities, so Harry considered the stag night an overall success. He himself had woken up that morning on the floor, but somehow also with his face pressed against the crown molding on the wall, and he marveled at Draco’s ability – even when asleep – to shove him up against things.  
  
They had been the last two to wake up, it turned out, because “no one wanted to break up something so adorable” – as Seamus had put it. Though, Harry suspected it was more laziness, as he seriously doubted that _Ron_ could find him and Draco “adorable” in any capacity. Regardless, they had slumped into the kitchen to join the others for tea and pastries and departed a bit after that to leave the man of the hour to his hangover remedies.  
  
Harry had meant to practice his speech some more that day, but when him and Draco had finally returned to his room at Hogwarts, the bed had looked far too tempting to pass up. As such, they had ended up sleeping through the whole afternoon and also the night, and far too suddenly, it was morning once again.  
  
The day of the wedding had arrived.  
  
Upon waking, Harry found himself struck with a lot of emotions he hadn’t realized had been building until they were suddenly upon him – the first, of course, being amazement that the three of them had even made it this far.  
  
For so many years, they’d fought off dangers far advanced for their age, and that had all culminated in a war that had ended the lives of many talented witches and wizards before their time. When he thought about the scope of their involvement, it was really nothing short of miracle that they had all made it out alive.  
  
Then, of course, came the nostalgia.  
  
He would never forget meeting Ron and Hermione on his first trip to Hogwarts, how one train ride could lay the tracks for both his friendships and his future. They had all been so young then. He remembered Ron, shy and pink-cheeked, so excited to share in some candy from the trolley. And Hermione – Hermione with her spells and pronunciation corrections before they even entered the school gates.  
  
The two of them had come to mean so much to him over the years, and he found himself rather teary-eyed on the edge of the bed – not quite able to proceed in standing up and getting dressed with all these feelings hanging about.  
  
“You alright, Harry?” Draco sounded concerned.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, wiping his eyes with a laugh of wonder. “Yeah, it’s just, wow. I can’t believe they’re getting _married_.”  
  
“Oh, is that it?” Draco gave him a soft smirk. “Merlin, you really are a sap, you know that?” But he was smiling as he did up the buttons of his dress robes and tidied his hair.  
  
“I know,” Harry sighed. He shoved himself to his feet and trundled to the closet. He might have gotten his first crying session out of the way today, but he was positive that it wouldn’t be the last. 

  


The second his feet came to rest on the ground outside the Burrow, a mixture of fear and hope rose simultaneously in his throat. This was it. The interactions he’d been putting off for so long, finally in front of him.  
  
He looked up and saw the bustle of Weasleys tweaking centerpieces and trestles of winter flowers, and for a delirious moment, Harry thought he was back at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. When _their_ wedding had taken place, he’d still been considered a part of this family, and that thought ate away at him as he realized it no longer rang true. He had given this all up.  
  
Draco squeezed his hand, and he glanced over to see Ron approaching them with a grin. Harry gave a quick squeeze in return, melancholy hammering in his ribs. Even if he had gained many wonderous new things in its absence, he would miss being a part of this family.  
  
Ron drew him into a big hug, which he returned with fervor. He tried to pour into it the emotions which he dared not voice.  
  
Ron drew back. Then, with an expression of someone who’d determinedly made a choice, he stuck out his hand to Draco. The blonde stared at it for a few beats then, quite hesitantly, grasped it in a handshake. They both let go quickly, and Ron nodded as if signally “well that’s that” before turning back to Harry.  
  
“Mum’s inside, if you want to go…say hi.” He met Harry’s eyes with a sort of plea and apology all wrapped in one.  
  
“Right,” he said, steeling himself. “I’ll do that now.” There was no point putting it off any longer - Ron had done his part, and now it was time to do his. He pulled Draco with him towards the door, mainly because he didn’t know how the man would fare on his own in a gathering of Weasleys just yet.  
  
“Harry, are you-” Draco started, and he just _knew_ that he was going to ask if he was okay – which he wasn’t sure he could handle just now – but then they were already in the kitchen, and Molly was turning around.  
  
She froze when she saw him.  
  
“Harry,” she whispered. There were a bunch of people in the room, clanging pots on the stove and running by with plates full of cupcakes – but somehow, her quiet voice made all the other sounds fall away. Like the world had narrowed its lens to view only the two of them.  
  
“M-Molly-” he stammered. He tried to say more, to apologize, to say he never meant to break anyone’s hearts or disappoint anyone, all the while his eyes catalogued the stiffened lines of her shoulders. And for a long moment, he feared this was where their conversation would end. That she would simply walk out and tell someone to send him away, that some wounds were just too tender to be prodded.  
  
And then her face was crumpling, and she was stepping forward to envelop him in her arms – and Harry simply melted into it, gave himself over to those feelings of love and safety that he had both cherished and resisted for so long.  
  
His face was wet. Merlin, he was _bawling_, and the only thing he kept thinking was “_maybe I don’t have to give this up after all_.”  
  
She held him until his chest stopped jumping with hiccoughs, and his breathing had smoothed. She drew back.  
  
“Harry,” her deep brown eyes fixed on his, “Harry…I’m so sorry for not writing.” She brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “It’s lovely to have you back.”  
  
His throat felt all tight and dry again. “No, _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t want-…I didn’t mean for things to turn out the way they did – for anyone to get hurt. Even if…even if I was able to learn a lot through that about what truly makes me happy.”  
  
She rested a hand on his cheek and smiled, a little sadly. “And have you found it? What truly makes you happy then?”  
  
He swallowed down his regrets, knowing she didn’t want them, and forced a watery smile. “Yes. Yes, I think I have.”  
  
Molly patted his cheek with a loving palm and drew back. “Then I’m glad.” She looked over his shoulder at Draco, who Harry realized was watching this encounter, looking uncomfortable and guilty.  
  
She stepped around Harry and walked over to him, and he could only watch with trepidation at whatever interaction was about to unfold.  
  
“Draco,” she said clearly, drawing herself up to full height.  
  
Harry saw his throat bob, as he too straightened. “Err, yes?” He bowed his head a little as if he expected her to whack him.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Those had clearly not been the words anyone was expecting, and Draco’s eyes shot wide open. “Pardon?”  
  
The room itself seemed to be holding its breath. Harry noticed that several people in the kitchen had actually stopped what they were doing to watch.  
  
“Thank you,” she repeated, “for making Harry happy. I may not approve of you swooping in right after my daughter and taking him – and a whole list of other things you’ve gotten involved with in the past – but you’ve made him happy, and for that, I thank you.”  
  
“I…I-” Draco seemed quite at a loss for what to say, so he merely flushed and scratched at the back of his neck in a rare physical gesture of befuddlement. “I…thank you…for your blessing then.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean I’ve given my blessing!” she snapped, and Draco’s shoulders shot up to his ears. “No, I may have read your article, young man, but that does not _nearly_ make up for all the years you tormented him – and others too. You might have made the first tiny step into my good graces, but I expect to see a whole lot more making-up in the years to come.”  
  
“Of-of course,” he stammered, red as a beet now, and looking vaguely horrified. “I’ll try my best-”  
  
“And if you _ever_,” she continued over top of him, “-hurt so much as a _hair_ on his head – you’ll be answering to me. Do I make myself clear? I’ll be watching.”  
  
“Yes! Absolutely.” He had pressed his hands together in desperate supplication, but it did not prepare him for the sudden hug in which he was engulfed.  
  
Molly drew back, and Draco looked even more bewildered than before. She turned back to Harry with a smile and a wink. “Now both of you run along, so I can finish making the pies!”  
  
He laughed and obliged, whisking Draco back out into the garden. They rushed under the tent, which had warming charms cast beneath it to ward off the December chill.  
  
“What just happened?” the blonde asked rather despairingly once they were out of earshot. “First, she was praising me, then she was insulting me, and then…then she was _hugging_ me-”  
  
Harry simply laughed some more and refused to clear it up for him. It was high time that Draco learned a family dynamic other than pompous etiquette.  
  
They almost bumped into Ron as they turned the corner, who paused mid-step and swiveled to address Harry.  
  
“Oh – there you are! Come with me – I need your help with something, Harry. The wedding’s starting in fifteen minutes.”  
  
Harry nodded and glanced at Draco, who shooed him with a distracted hand. He still seemed to be working out the puzzle that was Molly Weasley.  
  
“Alright, Ron – what’d you need?” he asked once they were up in Ron’s old bedroom.  
  
His friend turned to him, looking much more nervous than he had just a short while ago. “How do I look?” He tugged at his cravat and smoothed down the handsome navy dress robes that far surpassed the ones he used to own.  
  
Harry smirked. “Well, not my type exactly, but you’ll do.”  
  
Ron gave him an exasperated look. “No, _seriously_. Do I look awful? Just tell me if I’m going to embarrass myself.”  
  
“You look fine, Ron. And besides, the Lovegoods are already here – in their bright yellow robes, no less – so your Aunt Muriel will have someone else to make veiled, snide comments about.”  
  
He looked slightly relieved at that, but it didn’t totally erase the nervous tension from his body either. “What if something goes terribly wrong like at Bill’s wedding? What if Hermione runs and leaves me at the altar or-”  
  
“Ron, you’ve been watching too many Muggle movies with her,” he laughed. “You don’t even _have_ an altar.” He watched Ron’s face go a little sheepish at that. “Besides, when Bill and Fleur got married, we were in the middle of a _war_ – that’s all over now. The most that could go wrong is if a bunch of reporters crashed it or something.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “I think we already have one attending. We compromised that they’d leave right after the ceremony though, and free us for the reception.”  
  
“Okay, so it’ll probably be fine then,” Harry assured. “Everything will be fine. Now, let’s get you out there and ready before they think you’re a runaway groom.” 

  


The second Hermione had appeared and began walking down the aisle, Harry found his vision blurring once more with tears. These were his two _best friends_ in the world, and they were getting _married_. They were going to spend the rest of their lives together being _happy_ – they _deserved_ to be happy – and maybe he was a sap, but the thought was so beautiful that it just made him cry.  
  
And Hermione was gorgeous too. Her dress was long and elegant, with ethereal swaths of almost peach-tinted white fabric swirling after her. The cut of the neckline, the slight pinch at the waist – in fact, it almost looked a bit similar to the dress she had worn to the Yule Ball all those years ago that had made Ron realize he was in love with her.  
  
Her face broke into a smile as she caught sight of them down the line. Harry glanced at Ron’s expression, and it was absolutely radiant.  
  
The enchanted orchestra played sweetly and longingly as they matched her paces. A flock of charmed paper birds fluttered after Hermione, and he almost laughed when he recognized the spellwork as the ones she’d sent after Ron fifth year. So there was clearly some ironic humor at play as well.  
  
Harry tore his gaze away from his friends for a brief moment to cast over the audience. Molly was sobbing in the front row, while Arthur and Charlie smiled fondly and Bill and George cheered. Hermione’s parents sat on the other side – memories restored and a bit more tanned than he remembered – but also smiling and teary-eyed as they watched.  
  
He spotted Minerva sitting with a comforting hand on Hagrid’s shoulder a few rows back, looking distinctly proud of them all. Luna and her father were, as he had said, dressed to the nines in yellow robes and accessories that he remembered were meant to bring good luck. Kingsley and some of Ron’s coworkers were clumped in the back of the tent too, and many more of their friends and acquaintances were scattered in between.  
  
Draco was sitting near the front by Hermione’s parents, and Harry wondered whether she had asked them in advance to invite him there. It seemed a very Hermione thing to do – to consider that he’d likely have no one friendly to him here – and Harry’s heart swelled at the thought of it.  
  
Hermione had reached the small podium now, where Ron clasped her hands gladly and whispered something that made her grin. That small moment was almost enough to make him start crying all over again, but he forced himself together and scrubbed at his face. When he looked up again, the ceremony official was giving an introductory speech and welcoming everyone to the event.  
  
Harry tried to pay attention to the words, but his gaze kept drifting to catalogue the contented smiles Hermione kept making, the sparkle in Ron’s eye as he looked upon her. Before he knew what was going on, Teddy was already tottering up the aisle with aqua hair and mini dress robes, and he was handing the ring box shyly to the official.  
  
“Do you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, take Hermione to be your lawfully wedded wife?”  
  
Ron gazed at her fiercely. “I do.”  
  
“And do you, Hermione Jean Granger, take Ronald to be your lawfully wedded husband?”  
  
She smiled, looking no less decisive. “I do.”  
  
They slid the rings onto each others’ fingers, to a general cheer from the audience.  
  
“Then by the power vested in me by the Ministry, I now declare you husband and wife! You may now kiss and seal the holy bonds of magic and matrimony that have brought you together in this lifetime. May they endure forevermore!”  
  
And so, they kissed. 

  


It was after the rush of levitating chairs off the dancefloor and reorganizing the tables for appetizers that Harry felt a tug on his sleeve. He had been about to go and find Draco, and so he turned expecting to see the blonde there next to him.  
  
It was Ginny.  
  
He tried to restrain the wave of emotions that crashed into him as he looked into her eyes for the first time in months. She had been standing on the other side of the podium during the ceremony, and while he had certainly _seen_ her, he had tried his best to put their messy history out of mind – at least until the service itself had ended. But looking at her now, he realized that the time had finally come to confront it.  
  
“Hi Harry,” she said, calmly – like this was some normal thing.  
  
“Hi Ginny.” He didn’t know what to say after that, so he just stared and waited for her lead.  
  
After a moment, she held out her hand. He looked at it dumbly. “Dance with me for a minute? I wanted to say a few things.”  
  
Harry hesitated a second, looking at her questioningly. But she looked totally earnest – none of that hurt and rage glimmering in her eyes like when he’d last seen her – and so he figured he owed her at least this much.  
  
“Okay,” he said, taking her hand.  
  
The orchestra was switching modes from the lulling background music to songs that people could move to. Ginny drew him onto the dance floor where several other couples were gliding, including Ron and Hermione. Ron raised his eyebrows when he saw them, and Harry only offered a half-shrug in return as he settled his hands a bit stiffly on her shoulders.  
  
And when she failed to immediately launch a conversation, he burst out with, “How’ve you been?”  
  
She laughed, and it was that same hearty chuckle that he’d grown to love when they’d been dating. “We haven’t seen each other since the break-up, and you start with ‘how’ve you been’?” She looked a tad exasperated. “Same old Harry.”  
  
He had the good grace to look sheepish. “I know. I just…don’t really know what to say. I feel like apologizing again, but I’m also not sorry for the way things turned out either.”  
  
She nodded, eyes warm and brown like her mother’s. “I think that sums up my feelings as well. Like, it obviously hurt a lot at the time, but looking back, I can see that it was the right decision.” Her mouth quirked in a small smile. “For both of us.”  
  
He tried to read the story in her eyes, and wondered, distantly, whether she’d found someone else too.  
  
“You’re looking good,” he said, not fully intending to, but relieved at the appreciative smile she gave him in return. “I’m glad.”  
  
She twirled him a bit and laughed. “I’m doing a lot better. I’ve been focusing more on Quidditch – not that I ever _wasn’t_ – but it’s done me good. I’m spending more time with the team these days, and really relaxing in my time off. How about you? How’s teaching?”  
  
“Surprisingly hard,” he admitted. “I thought it’d be more like the D.A., but grading papers has kicked my arse.” He smiled. “But I’m loving it, to be honest.”  
  
“That’s great,” she said. “I sort of figured you would. It’s part of your whole ‘needing to stay busy’ thing. You always did better when you had something to do.”  
  
She glanced somewhere over his shoulder and snorted. “But I think I’d better let you go now, because your _boyfriend_ looks like he’s about to challenge me to a duel. In front of my entire extended family, no less.”  
  
Harry turned and saw that that pretty accurately described the sour look on Draco’s face as he leaned against the side of the tent with his arms crossed. Glaring at them.  
  
“Good point,” he murmured as he gave a slight bow to conclude their dance. She laughed at the formality and gave him a playful push in Draco’s direction. And, walking away, he felt both a little sad at the anticlimax of their talk, but also like he’d found peace in its simplicity. It felt like he’d just solved something he hadn’t even realized he’d been worrying about.  
  
He was happy that she was happy.  
  
Harry was halfway to Draco when he noticed a familiar, grizzled wizard lurking by the food table and detoured.  
  
“Oi! What are _you_ doing here? Trying to find some horrible new affair to write about?”  
  
The reporter looked up at him and sneered. “Why, did you want to offer up the details of your chat with Miss Weasley over there?” He rolled his eyes, looking a fair bit more subdued than last time they had interacted. “No, I’m here to report on the wedding.”  
  
“I thought you were demoted?” Harry snipped.  
  
The man – _Graham_, if he remembered correctly – raised an eyebrow. “Demoted to ‘_Weddings_ and Obituaries,’ if you’ll remember. And I don’t see any coffins around, so if you don’t mind-”  
  
“I do mind, actually,” Harry said, blocking his way back into the crowd. “Ron said you were supposed to leave after the ceremony.”  
  
“Ahh, well – it’s not like we agreed on a specific _time_-”  
  
“You should go.”  
  
The man glared up at him for a minute, and Harry wondered whether he’d start another fight. He felt the crackle of tension as Graham met his eyes, devious insults undoubtedly straining to break out.  
  
But then, the man was heaving a great sigh and downing the rest of his drink. “Fine, fine. I’ll be leaving then,” he grumbled. “I’m doing my job, so you can’t complain to Barnabus that I’m not.”  
  
Harry blinked, a little surprised by this turn of events. “I won’t.”  
  
The man was clearly still an arsehole, but maybe he was going to be a bit more subtle about it now. He could only hope.  
  
Graham looked at him mistrustfully, like he doubted Harry wouldn’t barge into their headquarters to snitch on him. But after a long moment, he seemed to accept Harry’s word, and with a final grimace, he set down his glass and Apparated away.  
  
Relieved, Harry turned back to the wall where Draco had been, but it was empty. He jogged the last few steps over and began to turn in a quick circle, looking a little desperately for where his boyfriend had gotten to-  
  
“Took you long enough,” Draco grumbled, appearing from the direction of the drinks table. “I got us some punch-”  
  
“May I have this dance?” Harry asked loudly, dropping to one knee compulsively with his palm outstretched. He knew it was a little much, but he felt a bit guilty for dancing with Ginny first, and he wanted to lay any of Draco’s worries to rest.  
  
“I-” Draco blustered, looking totally taken aback. “Er, alright, Potter. I like that plan better.” He set the goblets down on the nearest table and took Harry’s hand instead “Rather forward tonight, I see. Get up already. People are starting to stare.”  
  
Harry let Draco pull him to his feet. “I thought you could handle the stares. That _I_ was the ridiculously sensitive one?”  
  
Draco pursed his lips, dipping a hand to capture Harry’s waist and draw him into the first few steps. “You are. And I can – it’s just…it’s a lot of _Weasleys_ staring at me.”  
  
Harry smirked and leaned into the gentle rhythm of the dance. “Trust me, you’ve already faced off against the most fearsome Weasley today.”  
  
“Oh, I have no doubt.”  
  
Harry nuzzled his face into Draco’s neck, inhaling his comforting scent. “Oh, and Draco?”  
  
“Hmm?” The blonde pulled him into a spin that he surprisingly didn’t stumble during.  
  
“When I was dancing with Ginny – we were just talking. Nothing more.” He glanced up to gauge his expression.  
  
“I know that,” Draco huffed, though he looked pleased at the reassurance all the same. “I don’t know much about your relationship with her, but I can say with absolute certainty that she never made you scream while tied to a bedpos-”  
  
“_Okay_, okay – I’ve got it, thanks.” His face burned.  
  
Draco’s lips curved into a smirk as he stared into Harry’s eyes. “Didn’t know you were such a prude, Potter.”  
  
“Well, when you’re saying it loudly around my _family_,” he stopped abruptly, wondering if it was okay to state it so baldly – if he’d be considered pathetic for including himself when it was really _Ron’s_ family…  
  
But it also felt right. His eyes caught Molly watching the two of them dance and brush away a tear, and when he looked back at Draco, the man’s smile had softened too.  
  
“How did Ron like your gift, by the way?” he asked.  
  
Draco’s eyes lit up. “He loved it. Said the antidote and its recipe would help Aurors immeasurably, and he even wants to see if he can get me signed on as a Potions consultant. But we’ll have to see if Robards even gives the idea a second thought.”  
  
“They’d be lucky to have you,” Harry said honestly. But then, his thoughts took a turn. “Would you leave Hogwarts if you got that?”  
  
Draco spun him again and dragged him into a dip. “Is that concern I detect?” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, Harry, I’ve got reason enough to stay at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future. Anything else I took on would be a side job.”  
  
Harry ignored Draco’s shit-eating grin. “Good.” _He didn’t care if it made him sound like a clingy twat_.  
  
Then, because he couldn’t just leave it like that: “I love beating you at your own subject.”  
  
Draco’s eyebrows rose incredulously, and his grip on Harry’s hand tightened. “_Really_ now? After the last game we played? I think I’ve finally found your weakness, and it’s high time we had a rematch.”  
  
And Harry just grinned, because – once again – he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.  
  
“I think we’d better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, welcome to the second to last chapter!! Ahhh, I don't know even know what to say. I really didn't expect to make it this far. Stay tuned for the epilogue next week as well as an announcement!
> 
> And I hope you enjoyed the wedding! I picture Harry as someone who would cry through the entirety of his friends' weddings (and definitely his own), so this was fun for me to write.
> 
> In other news, I posted a oneshot on Saturday (not TNFI-related) following Draco's perspective following the war. It centers on Professor Burbage's ghost appearing to him and forcing him to come to terms with his past and his guilt in order to move forward. I poured my soul into this story, so I'd appreciate it so much if you'd give it a read, even though it's a bit of a genre change from this! You can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840752).
> 
> I also wrote a fluffy oneshot sequel to my ferret!Draco Christmas fic ([A Little White Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950029)), centered on Valentine's Day, which you can find [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23876686)!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!  
xoxo


	38. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuuuuuuuuuuuuu-
> 
> Wow. Welcome to the epilogue and last chapter, everyone. Quite frankly, I'm astounded that this story made it this far, and I want to thank all of you for your support and kudos and comments along the way that motivated me to keep writing it. I'm going to save the rest of my reflections to the end, and be sure to read that final author's note, because I also have an announcement to make about this story! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> t/w: oral sex; sex

“_Harry!_ Good heavens, boy, why are you sprinting through the halls?” Minerva paused mid-step to watch him bounce off the wall and take off down the corridor again.  
  
“Can’t talk now, Minerva! I’m late for class!”  
  
He heard her incredulous gasp from behind him, receding as he ran.  
  
“But you _teach_ the class!” she shouted after him.  
  
Harry would have laughed, had he had the breath. As it was, he continued to sprint down the hall, up the stairs, and down another set of corridors. He cast a _tempus_ charm in front of him and nearly groaned at the time – ten minutes late already. _Draco was going to kill him_.  
  
_At the very least, he’ll hex me_, Harry thought, and decided to send a _patronus_ ahead and attempt to soothe the man’s temper.  
  
The stag galloped from his wand in an explosion of silvery light, and Harry swung around the corner that marked the final stretch to his classroom. He squinted. In front of his stag, another light was speeding down the corridor – only, it was coming in his direction. When it got close enough to make out, he let out a groan of annoyance and dodged it as he went by.  
  
The silvery crow fluttered in confusion for a moment before rapidly changing directions and flapping alongside him. “_Harry, I don’t know what’s taking you so long, but you are_ dead _when you reach this room_,” the bird called in Draco’s voice.  
  
Harry mustered a scowl as he skidded to a halt outside the door. Gloomy bird. So like Draco too – dour, combative, and far too intelligent for his own good.  
  
He burst through the door. “I’m here, I’m here!”  
  
He stumbled to a stop in the middle of the room – taking stock, first, of Draco’s murderous glare from where he leaned against the teacher’s desk, and then next, the silent, shocked gaze of students.  
  
“I brought the ingredients,” he wheezed. “We should have everything we need now – we’re all set.” His eyes flickered over to the _patronuses_ which had followed him into the room. Draco’s crow, as usual, sat perched upon his stag’s antlers, and they stared back at him with far too much tranquility for the situation. 

  


“Thank you, _Professor Potter_, for your precise and _punctual_ delivery,” Draco said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t know _what_ I would do without your help.”  
  
Several of the fifth years giggled. Harry put on what he hoped was a suitably repentant look.  
  
“Now!” Draco clapped his hands together. “We can finally get started on brewing some of that Skele-gro. Do you remember what I said about the best defense?”  
  
“The best defense is being good at healing,” came a broken chorus of responses.  
  
“Yes. Yes, exactly. Unlike what Professor Potter here would like you to believe, that-”  
  
“The best defense is a good offense,” Harry supplied, having regained enough of his breath. “It’s _true_ though!” He drew his wand and floated the remaining ingredients to each of the student pairs. With a flick, his _patronus_ vanished as well, leaving the crow spluttering and flapping until Draco too recalled his.  
  
Harry gritted his teeth and decided to compromise – it was always better for him in the long run when he acquiesced. “Though…I admit, like Professor Malfoy says, healing potions and spells are good to know too. I wish I had back in my day.”  
  
He glanced up at Draco conciliatorily, but the man merely huffed and looked away. _Okay, so he was clearly still mad about the tardiness_.  
  
Making sure all the students had what the needed first, Harry then slipped over to him and whispered over the clanging of cauldrons, “Draco, I’m sorry. I really tried to make it back in time – J. Pippin’s Potions didn’t have the scarab beetles, and I ended up having to go all the way to Knockturn Alley to find someone who did! By that point, it was already five of noon.”  
  
Draco met his eyes with a fierce glower. “You said that an hour would be _plenty_ of time. ‘Just a quick run to Hogsmeade!’ you said. Also, if you had just thought to _check_ the storerooms earlier than the _day of your lesson_, we wouldn’t be in this predicament to begin with.”  
  
“Well, how was I supposed to know that you’d used the last of the scarab beetles in a wit-sharpening potion for Ron and the Aurors? If you don’t _tell_ me about your side projects, I won’t have any idea which ingredients are being depleted – that wasn’t on any of our syllabi!”  
  
Draco eyed him wearily, his anger seeming to fade. “Hmph, well it’s not my fault they practically _beg_ me to make them potions on short notice. I’m ‘the only one they can trust to do it right,’ after all. And if I recall correctly, _you_ were at a Head of House meeting yesterday, so I didn’t have the _chance_ to tell you.”  
  
“Didn’t have the chance?” Harry repeated in an incredulous whisper. “Draco, we _live_ together.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Well you still need to be more prepared to teach your class.”  
  
“When are you going to stop calling it ‘my’ class? It’s your class now too!”  
  
Draco turned and put out a cauldron fire with a quick flick of his wand. “Pay attention, Rivers!” Then, he was back facing Harry with a grin. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’ll call it mine when I feel more like a professor than a glorified _babysitter_ for you. Now, control your class!”

  


When the period came rolling to an end, Harry packed up his things and began spelling away some of the mess. Somehow, the kids had managed to fuse pufferfish scales to the desks, and there were trails of greenish brownish slime stretching across the classroom floor.  
  
“Professor! Are you coming to the game today?”  
  
Harry looked up and noticed Sam hovering by his side. “Oh _hell_, that’s today, isn’t it? Yeah, I’ll be there.”  
  
The boy grinned and gave him a first bump. “I’ll save you a seat with Gryffindor then!”  
  
He raced out, and once Harry checked that no other students were lingering, he spelled the door closed with a sigh. “_Merlin_. I forgot you had Quidditch today.” He slumped against the teacher’s desk.  
  
Draco laughed and stepped between his legs. “And why should that matter? Did you have some special _plans_ for me?” He leaned in, his palms coming to rest flat on the desk on either side of Harry. His eyes were deep and dark.  
  
Harry swallowed. His mouth still went dry whenever Draco pinned him like this. “Not particularly, no. But I’ve barely _seen_ you this week.”  
  
Draco laughed. “Well, what did you expect? It’s the first week of a new term.” He dipped his head closer, lips brushing against Harry’s for the slightest of touches. His voice dropped low and smooth. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave the gloves _on_ today.”  
  
Harry shivered and wetted his lips. “Our room? Or by the lockers?”  
  
Draco grinned. “Hmmm. I don’t know, Potter – where would you like me to _ravish_ you today?”  
  
Harry couldn’t help but laugh – it was a dumb question. “Everywhere.” 

  


He made it to the stands with nothing but swollen lips and some pent-up energy that Draco was entirely in charge of releasing once this dreadful match was over. It was funny how much he could love and hate a sport at the same time.  
  
Sam waved to him from the Gryffindor side, and he took his seat next to him, nodding hello to Neville in the row behind. Neville – who wore both a Gryffindor hat and a Hufflepuff scarf, as was necessitated by the conflicting allegiances of him and his lovely, Hufflepuff wife. Harry knew the feeling.  
  
“Heya Harry! How’s the new semester treating you?”  
  
Harry laughed. “Good, so far – at least, I think. Draco’s been quite busy with everything though.”  
  
Neville nodded. “Yeah, your husband’s taken on a lot this year – co-teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, potions consulting for the Ministry, dueling club… And all that on top of flight classes and Quidditch refereeing too!”  
  
Harry sighed. Hearing it said aloud reminded him just how busy the man would be this year. He’d be lucky if they could snatch a few minutes together at night before crashing from the inevitable exhaustion.  
  
It was still kind of crazy to him that they’d ended up co-teaching together. After last winter break, Minerva had called them into her office to talk – and they had gone, fully expecting to be chastised for the articles popping up about their ill-fated karaoke night. Instead, however, she had proposed – rather out of the blue – that they combine their efforts to revitalize the Defense curriculum. To teach _together_ and even out their strengths and weaknesses.  
  
Given, of course, that Draco was _already_ making frequent appearances in Harry’s classes – and vice versa – they found it made a lot of sense, actually.  
  
So they’d shuffled their routines – Draco finally getting a new challenge to direct his focus into, and Harry getting the bit of help he desperately needed to keep himself together with all the grading. Minerva had been convinced that their co-teaching would _also_ end the curse on the position that had yet to dissipate after Voldemort’s death. And lo and behold – when the next year had rolled around, Harry and Draco had indeed returned to teach Defense another year.  
  
She had believed it a miracle.  
  
But now, Draco’s ambition had him clamoring for other things as well.  
  
“Yeah, it’s a lot,” Harry grumbled. “Not to mention, that he’s gunning for Potions and Head of Slytherin House once Slughorn retires too. He spends half his time chasing the old coot across the castle, asking for advice and clues as to when he’s calling it quits. Yesterday, he didn’t even sit with me at dinner, because he was forcing himself between Slughorn and _Trelawney_.”  
  
Neville laughed. “Aww, you almost sound a little lonely, Harry.”  
  
“Almost,” Harry admitted with another sigh. “But Draco assures me he can handle it all and have plenty of time on the side. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Anyway – how’s it going for you?”  
  
Neville smiled. “Nothing crazy yet. I’m having the students help me with the fall harvest mostly – they’re more amenable to learning if they get to carve pumpkins, I’ve found. And we’re going to need a lot if we want to outdo the decorations from last year-”  
  
“Shh,” Hannah interrupted, “The match is starting!”  
  
Harry turned back to face forward and saw the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams racing onto the field. Then – as was his favorite part – Draco appeared with the gearbox. _Mmm, it was unfair how good the man looked in Quidditch leathers_.  
  
“Which one of them is your boyfriend again?” he whispered to Sam, who promptly exploded into a blush.  
  
“Damien,” he mumbled, pointing to one of the Hufflepuff beaters. “That’s him there. But he’s not my _boyfriend_ yet – we’re just dating and seeing where it goes.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes affectionately. “Oh, right. My bad.” He sneakily added, “That’s why you’ve already gone and spent your first Hogsmeade weekend together at Madam Puddifoot’s – the most coupley place you can find!”  
  
“Hey! How-…” If possible, he blushed even brighter. “You weren’t even there!”  
  
Harry grinned. “Yes, well, Antoni told Lucy, and then Lucy told me. It’s Hogwarts, there’s gossip – what did you expect?”  
  
“Bloody _traitors_,” Sam murmured, though he smiled as Damien gallantly hit a bludger away from one of his teammates.  
  
They continued to watch, each enraptured with the sight of their special person, utterly lovelorn. 

  


“Hey beautiful, you got a name?”  
  
He watched Draco snort and roll his eyes hard enough to hurt himself. “_Merlin_. Your pick-up lines haven’t improved in _years_.”  
  
Harry grinned from where he was leaning against the lockers. He’d waited until he was sure all the students were out, and then he’d slipped inside with the Cloak. “As if you don’t love it,” he said.  
  
Draco shook his head with an incredulous smile, as he began undoing his shirt. “You _know_ I do,” he muttered, flashing his left hand to display the Black signet ring there. “Otherwise, I’d never have married some lowly _Potter_.”  
  
He glanced up to gauge Harry’s expression and grinned.  
  
“Yeah, well we may be married, but you’re still a _git_.”  
  
Harry laughed, remembering he’d said something similar in his wedding vows. They’d had a nice ceremony over the summer at a garden Luna had recommended in the countryside. Just family and friends, lots of food – no reporters. And even though Draco joked about the ‘Potters,’ they had both agreed to take on the surname Black – legally, if not publicly. For Draco, it was a matter of choosing his mother over his father, and for Harry, it was a way to honor the only family member he’d ever known – Sirius.  
  
Though, that was excepting the Weasleys, of course.  
  
“If I’m a git, then you’re a prat,” Draco countered. Then, he was meeting Harry’s eyes and seeking entrance – pushing easily into the warm, whirling chaos of his mind.  
  
The intrusion was painless, like cool water. He could feel a vague buzzing, where he knew Draco’s consciousness was centered, and it moved deliberately to untangle his dirty thoughts. But it was hard to bring those forward when he was content to merely stare into those searing grey eyes-  
  
_Focus, Potter. Stop waxing poetic about my eyes_.  
  
Those deep, slate grey-  
  
_Seriously?_  
  
“Fine,” Harry grumbled aloud. “But they’re really fucking nice.”  
  
He turned his thoughts to sex, letting memories wash over him – the feeling of Draco’s skin sliding against his, the rippling sting of a hand across his arse. He let one memory in particular rise in his mind.  
  
Draco pulled back, siphoning out of his mind with a feeling of gentle suction. It left him feeling a little empty – like it always did – but he could endure it with the promise of what was to come.  
  
Draco blinked a few times and smirked. “Alright, Potter, I think I’ve got a sense of what you’re after this time. Now get over here.” His tone was haughty and perfect.  
  
Harry closed the distance gladly and fell to his knees.  
  
He nuzzled into Draco’s crotch and groaned as he felt the man hardening against him. He was already half-hard himself from the thoughts he’d remembered for Draco.  
  
_Pop_. He undid the button on the man’s trousers, and drew them down enough to free his cock. Draco knew what he wanted, but Harry said it anyway. “Talk to me.”  
  
Draco twitched as he closed his mouth around him and swirled his tongue.  
  
“Fuck, _Potter_. You dirty little slut.”  
  
_As it had turned out, neither of them could keep their former surnames out of each other’s mouth long enough to give up for good_.  
  
“You like it, _Malfoy_,” he replied, drawing back to toy with the tip.  
  
“Such a _Slytherin_,” Draco hissed, though his laugh turned into a groan as Harry lurched forward and took him to the base.  
  
He didn’t last long after that.  
  
They sped back to their room under the Invisibility Cloak to continue in private. 

  


After several hours, a few firewhiskies, and some Slytherin ties and bedposts, the couple lay sated across their rumpled bed. Harry’s heart was still pounding in his chest as his body tried to catch up with him.  
  
He repositioned his head on Draco’s chest, which was bare, slick, and beating nearly as hard as his. It never failed to ground him. “Draco?” he murmured sleepily.  
  
“Hmm?” The blonde traced a finger in errant patterns across his shoulder. It felt a bit like he was casting an intricate spell when he did that – pressing magic into his very skin.  
  
Touching Draco always felt like that.  
  
“How long have you known you liked me?”  
  
Draco’s hand stilled, and he went silent as usual. Harry had asked many times at this point – teasingly, honestly, pleadingly, angrily – and the man had still yet to respond. He was beginning to doubt he ever would.  
  
Not for the first time, he wished he was a _legilimens_ like Draco – if only to teach him the crushing relief of letting go of his barriers.  
  
“Does it matter?” came the quiet reply after several moments.  
  
Harry sighed, exhaling the last bit of cognition that was keeping him awake. “No, I suppose not.” And for once, he meant it.  
  
He rolled over so his back was pressing against Draco, and his husband shifted to meld to his new position, settling his arms around Harry’s middle. It felt so safe like this, so comfortable. So perfect in a way he’d never dreamed he could have when he was younger.  
  
His breaths grew deeper and longer.  
  
Draco’s fingers began to ghost down his arm again, returning to their mysterious patterns. And _Merlin_, this man was confusing sometimes, but he loved him more than life itself.  
  
He felt his muscles loosen.  
  
And then, after drifting to the very threshold of sleep itself – after he couldn’t be sure whether what he was hearing was even real – Harry heard a quiet, whispered reply.  
  
And his lips curled into a smile as he sank deeper still. Because real or not, they were the most beautiful words he’d ever heard.  
  
“Since I first laid eyes on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I might be getting a little emotional that this is the final chapter. A brief comment on Draco's patronus before I delve into my reflection though - I'll be honest; I've never been a huge fan of the whole "people's patronus changes to the patronus of the person they love" thing. It has some inconsistencies (Whose changes to whose if you _both_ love each other? Why that way? Does love really _change_ who you are, or does it just bolster both of you to greater individual heights?) 
> 
> Regardless, my point isn't to shit on this part of the canon or anyone who's written incredibly touching works based around it. I merely wanted to explain a bit why Draco's patronus is a crow in the end, instead of a stag. In my mind, I find it far more romantic and healthy for lovers to have complementary patronuses that work together in much the same way that their people do. 
> 
> Alright. So now that that's out of the way...
> 
> Thank you all so much for supporting this story. I said it in the beginning note, but I'll say it again: your comments and kudos and views have really motivated me to finish this story in a way that I normally don't have the patience to focus on one project. I can't even express how much your readership meant to me when I set out on creating my first ever fic, and how accomplished I feel to have brought it to a satisfying conclusion. 
> 
> That being said, when I started out writing this fic, I fully intended it to be a moderately short 30-40k fic that poked fun at the idea of Draco (the more pristine, "academic" type) taking on the rough-and-tumble Flight Instructor position, while Harry (the sloppy, impatient, never-read-any-of-his-textbooks type) taking on the more "academic" position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I really had no idea where I was going when I started this, but as you can see, the length got away from me a bit, and I started having way too much fun coming up with what happens next. And I truly hope you enjoyed the results. 
> 
> So about now, I feel that it's time to reveal my little announcement... I'm actually writing a **sequel**!!
> 
> I know - I just made a long comment wrapping up this story, and then I go and announce something like this. I apologize. But I've had this intention for a while now that I wanted to write it all from Draco's perspective as well, which was something I ultimately decided to hold off on doing until this story was complete. Before starting The New Flight Instructor, I really struggled with what POV style I wanted to use, and in the end, I decided to write _this_ story entirely from Harry's perspective to maintain the dramatic tension throughout instead of switching back and forth. That being said, there were a lot of moments that I still really wanted to elaborate on what Draco was thinking and doing, which is why I chose to save it for a sequel. 
> 
> The sequel will be entitled "Since I First Laid Eyes on You," and while there will definitely be some overlapping scenes/conversations described again, there's also going to be sections dedicated to moments in Draco's life in the two years after the war but before their Hogwarts reunion. So it shouldn't be redundant (I hope). I've already started writing it, and my plan is to post the first chapter of it next Tuesday, so that you can find it and follow it if you choose - but I will not be posting it on the same weekly schedule I've used for this story. At least not yet - I need to build up a bit more of a head start, and I also need some flexibility to pursue other shorter stories and one-shots that've been bouncing around in my head for a while. 
> 
> But anyway! I hope you'll follow me on this new(ish) journey, and I will link the first chapter here once it's posted (Update: [read it here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022957/chapters/57796909)!). In the meantime - if there's any moments from this story that you specifically would like to see from Draco's perspective, drop them in the comments and let me know! 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I love you guys :)  
xoxo

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [TNFI Alternate Chapter 26: The Boy Who Enjoyed Pudding Very Much](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588300) by [Mx_Maneater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Maneater/pseuds/Mx_Maneater), [private_eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/private_eyes/pseuds/private_eyes)
  * [i guess this exists now huh?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658497) by [2Cute2BeCis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Cute2BeCis/pseuds/2Cute2BeCis)
  * [Chapter 34: Sugar Cum Fairies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479288) by [private_eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/private_eyes/pseuds/private_eyes)


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